Survival of the Wittiest

Father demanded first slice of pie
doled out with high brow perfection
anything less unacceptable

Crumbly bits unleashed a tirade
the shame of incompetence
crushing the reluctant server

Oppressed as we were
we children plotted,
sought a suitable revenge

He got his just dessert
cherry with a subtle trace –
scent of satisfaction.

(Note: no parents were killed in the writing of this poem. Image my own.)

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

28 thoughts on “Survival of the Wittiest

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