Wednesday, September 23, 2015

Words, Words, Twaddle, 37

(We all dislike/hate certain words and locutions; here are some of mine.)

Wrong Flavor

“The flavor of the month,” you sneered
And stroked your somewhat scruffy beard

While I imagined murder plots—
Some stabbings, drownings, rifle shots.

Perhaps we’ll meet down at the park—
Where trees contribute to the dark—

And I’ll say, “Here’s my Bowie knife,”
And you will beg, “Oh, spare my life!”

And I’ll say, “So I will—today.
But deadly, deadly is cliché.”

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