In The Mirror
Dear Abigail, now a widow, with respects for her deceased,
said he was a frail, old man... as she begged for release
Though her uncles and cousins and twice removed parents,
knew all along that she’d been transparent
Straining for a kind of ‘split-pea’ reality,
explaining how her hubby was such a bad tease
She said, "I once cocked my ankle on the path through the garden,
imagine my sorrow, in shiny new shoes"
(How shallow of her to ask for sardines, I thought...)
“Then he stubbed his left toe right on my left ear-lobe,
so, still wearing my bathrobe, I buried him in snow!”
She sneezed so distastefully as I listened with interest,
when she screamed out in rich and moderate tones...
"I'm a fish!"
...and I was forevermore hooked with her ‘up-scale’ demeanor,
though “Dear Abby” never saw fit to write me again
An investment in swim fins was a small enough loss,
for the hope dear Abigail would give me a toss...
...just bein' Bluesy