Guilty

- from a story Daddy liked to tell . . .

His wife was tired, she looked a ‘fright’, 

With babies, she’d been up all night.

“He said, “Hun, right here, you'll stay.”

“I’ll go, myself, to church today.” 

She smiled at him with gratitude,

Grateful for the interlude.

He happ’ly went, dressed in his best.

And prayed his wife would get some rest. 

When back, he walked with a slight tilt,

His face? Swelled up with pain. Or guilt.

For two big shiners did he sport,

One on the left and one athwart.

His wife, her eyebrows she did raise,

He reddened at her doubtful gaze,

“I went to church," he said. "I did!

I wasn’t bad there, God forbid!”

“I sat there good as gold. It’s true!

And others sat around me, too.

We listened. All was calm and peace.

The Spirit flowed and fear did cease.”

“But when the congregation rose, 

To sing a hymn (and sleep dispose),

The dame in front of me this week?

Her dress was stuck between her cheeks.”

“Supposing I’d do something kind,

I pulled it out, thought she’d not mind. 

But she did! She turned about,

And with her fist, gave me a clout.”

“Well, that explains the first one, dear,”

The second one is still unclear.”

He shrugged, “Well, she made such a fuss,

I thought she must desire it thus.”

The moral—

With dresses, to avoid a smack,

Don’t think to put untucked things back.

Each month from Karen, we accept,

A challenge to our gifts adept,

A theme she gives, a poem we craft,

Write draft on draft on draft on draft.

(Please, I’m just kidding, one’s enough

To prove that we’ve all got The Stuff.)

So now we will present to you

What we have made for your review!

Karen at Baking in a Tornado