love is a battlefield

the trouble began with me referring to my side of the bed as my foxhole.

and her side, the trenches

for her, the bed became hiroshima, after the bomb fell.

(she’s japanese, so i guess she’s allowed.)

putting on my p.j.s i called suiting up.

when she pulled her nightgown over her head, she’d shout battle stations!

no quarter was given, none asked. biting was allowed.

poison gas under the covers.

peace talks at breakfast.

for Mad About Metaphor

poem

in the storm, a cannon broke loose and rolled across the deck
heavy, dangerous, and out of control
bruce, our ship’s other loose cannon
heavy, dangerous, and out of control
chased after it, pounced on it, and secured it

for Saturday Mix – Mad About Metaphor

haiku

more garbage more crows
please don’t shoot the messenger
it’s our fault not theirs

for Mad About Metaphor