Battle Axe And Her Republican Trumpeting Waze

• Posted by: matthew harris
• Created: December 17, 2016
• 0

Upon bitterly cold dawning hours of one January 2000 day
the Harns family desperately sought a place to live – “hay
there” Nelson Swartley (an independent realtor)
politely responded bringing unwelcome news viz our sos re lay
informing us (myself the missus, and two young toddlers –
daughters begotten as thee wife hoop fully did pray)
our rental lease would not be renewable, we could not stay

*          I          *          S          *          I         *          N          *          G          *       

Though tipping the scales at less than ten pounds of flesh oye vay
(this bundle of sugar, spice and every nice,
especial favorite tomb paternal grand pop re: Zay-
da (adorned in pink bows), she warranted to eyes a betray
hull to human species, and closely resembled every
other alien look alike new born, and gnome hatter how gray
sh us aye tried (to pass said offspring as smart pet) a blue jay
would be a stretch, but artful persuasion faux nada okay

cuz no animals except bipedal hominids could override
unlawful occupancy capacity subsequently exceeding
by one measly pip squeaking infant, we needed to parlay
insight to relocate from flat
located in Schwenksville, pencil vane knee yay.
*          I          *          S          *          I         *          N          *          G          *       
Thus, we reckoned to live temporarily at premises spouse
occupied since the age of eighteen enthusiasm did not rouse
for less than fond memories on par with demise
of quite bloody story book sans one mouse
from three, who crossed paths with a carvers knife that louse
of farmer’s wife akin to me mother in law from hell
since the then recent death of her husband, whose house
situated at 1148 Tree green Lane
a domicile – which provided shortcomings to grouse
(unlike being settled in outer limits of Willoghby -
totally fictitious town in the twilight zone of Claus
and Sanity, an edenic hamlet tucked into foothills
of Penn Valley), a quaint nook plum tree perfect,
where imaginary Stratford Upon avon converged
likened to a well sewed blouse.
*          I          *          S          *          I         *          N          *          G          *       
Tangential to our lives, re: a final decision where
Sylvia would live unanimously decreed veer
hull lee by the two elder sisters of thine wife their
final decision to relocate widow closer with miles to spare
to the middle sibling (who resided in Paradise) prayer
home companion land, said authoritarianism decreed
overruled and over rode desperate pleas, they would not hear
Zion widow in mourning whose sentimental bric a brac dear
memories and paraphernalia filled every cranny quite clear
the matriarch scion a pack rat hoarding akin to hibernating bear
cramped quarters nada so brief tenancy partly this poem I air.
*          I          *          S          *          I         *          N          *          G          *       
No sooner than we set foot within said domicile
attestation to so called gentleman’s’ agreement with guile
initially infrequently, but incessantly as time elapsed Isle
never forget (nor will spouse forgive) with rancor and rile
ceaselessly besieging, bruiting bare-knuckle skirmishes
for us to remove ourselves and personal belonging with vile
lent vitriolic wrath from the day we decamped
within hoity -toity Mainline –
our matted unwelcome would endure for quite a white.
*          I          *          S          *          I         *          N          *          G          *       
With hindsight and accumulative less cloudy fifty shades of gray,
an irrevocable clear er voyance viz summoning forth would lay
an irreconcilable rift (rivaling the Mariana), and constant nay
saying presaged an emotional price to pay
whereat we deterred sale of vintage crystal balls – our stay
purported prevented sale of precious heirlooms – oye vay
in tandem to estate sale divvied up, cuz we whar in the way.

*          I          *          S          *          I         *          N          *          G          *       

Analogous to Little Red Riding Hood, we could not see
blitzkrieg, cannonading, incessant strafe carpet bombing re:
bloody onslaught from the generation of elder vipers que
endured feeling trapped by memorabilia meant nothing to me
*          I          *          S          *          I         *          N          *          G          *       
Warfare found us hunkering down within said tract housing unit,
a fusillade fired off re: porting volleys of character assassination
bombarded this unfortunate civilian clearly implicated to whit
for being a non jewish schlemiel inducing endless economic        
denigrating calumniations – fulminating against this “twit”
we decried wicked, vicious, unwarranted abuse would not quit
with no defense against slings and arrows, a plague round
of ceaseless, ferocious, and insidious pilloried that pit
pendulous injustices for each of our arse (emphatic branding
per diem me own scrawny gluteus maximus  to git
the hell out – eventually hiring a lawyer with eviction edict!

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