Battle Axe And Her Republican Trumpeting Waze


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!













Battle Axe And Her Republican Trumpeting Waze

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