Quoth the Husband, Nevermore
Thank you, Edgar Allen Poe, for graciously lending me the format and rhyme of your beloved The Raven to summarize the following scene of suburban pumpkin mayhem.
*******************************
Once upon a weeknight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over a large and snowy cluster of shriveled gourds;
I determined I’d be napping, when from the kitchen I heard tapping
‘Twas my husband, strangely, tap-tap-tapping.
With a knife, he was apparently not down with napping.
He had the pumpkins on the floor.
Ah, distinctly I remember, saying No, let’s not dismember,
The pumpkins though true, the flesh puckers in with mush.
Gently I urged the task forgotten, put off a day; I was down-trodden
And there was laundry to be gotten, yet the knife began to slash.
The madman muttered softly, and with his knife began to slash
And I? I intercepted flesh aimed for the trash.
Inevitably the task grew longer, his resolve did not grow stronger;
`Wife,’ said he, `Help, for your assistance I implore;
The fact is I was trying, a plan to expedite the drying,
Perhaps they need a’fryin’? And he grinned, amongst the seeds there on the floor.
I took in the grisly score, gourd flesh stuck to ceiling and to floor.
My eyes flashed darkness, nothing more.
Though I said that I was weary, the seeds were out and oh so smeary
Pumpkin guts piled high into the night
I shook my head, recipe reciting, rocking slightly to keep from fighting
Like an angel softly igniting, I opened up the oven door.
‘In they go,’ said I, pointing tired spouse towards oven door.
Quoth my husband, Nevermore
