My son thinks this may be the best thing I’ve written.
She started by sending me letters
Hundreds a day without fail
The postman developed a hernia
So I had them cut off my mail
Next she’d call me at noontime
My ear wore away to the bone
For hours and hours she’d ramble and talk
So I had them cut off my phone
Finally she’d come to my bedroom
We’d have so much sex I’d get sick
To dress was a chore (I had gotten so sore)
So I had them cut off… the end of this poem