Spa'ghot'ti

Their relationship was lengthy; sadly, the ‘illicit’ kind,

The results not unexpected when a ‘he’ and ‘she’ combine,

A baby was forthcoming, and no way to stop it now,

The mom would not have stood for interference anyhow,

Afraid of having to confess, he planned a stratagem,

To cover his misdeed. Ensure his wife could not condemn,

To Italy, he’d send his lover, ending their affair,

But promised when the baby came, he'd happ'ly provide care,

What she had to do, when baby came, was send a card,

With ‘spaghetti’ written on the back. (That's all. It wasn't hard.)

And he’d begin to pay for care and school for eighteen years,

And ensure that her finances never would be in arrears,

And so she left. The months went by—their little one was due,

Indeed, that fateful day arrived, t’was time for babe’s debut,

The father—home from work—his wife was standing at the door,

Read the card she handed him, then passed out on the floor,

Confused, his wife picked up the card and read it once or twice,

Then shook her head. Some knowledge (just a little) would suffice,

She turned it o’er, it said “Spaghetti” three times, scrawled across,

Then, “Two with meatballs, one without, please plan to send more sauce.”

Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,

With poetry, we all besought

To try to make the week begin

With gentle thoughts,

Perhaps a grin?

So Karen, Charlotte, Mimi, me

Have crafted poems for you to see.

And now you’ve read what we have wrought…

Did we help?

Or did we not?

Next week, we promise we won't bore

We'll talk of our LEAST favourite chore!