Friday, April 24, 2020

If you ask me on a Monday

-- 500 words
-- Write an absurdist piece, beginning with "If you ask me on a Monday" and ending with "I'd say yeah!"

If you ask me on a Monday if the moon was made of cheese
I’d turn around and look askance, and fall on bended knees
Asking you if you were sane, or just being a pain?
As you can often be…

If you ask me on a Tuesday if my love was true,
I’d turn to you, and say, What ho! I’m living here with you.
It could be love, it could be lust, could be financial need
Or even simple greed. (Great cook, you know you be)
Try and guess, till then you know I’ll bless you when you sneeze.

If you ask me on a Wednesday to help you comb your hair
I’d run a mile without a smile, it leaves me in despair
Those tangled knots, those matted locks
That length that you must wear, Rapunzel,
Just go to hell, its more than I can bear.

If you ask me on a Thursday to tidy up the flat
You know you’ve asked for trouble, mate.
When things go flying, splat. Take that, and that,
And that, and then some more of that.
You’re the one that messes up, you filthy, messy rat.

If you ask me on a Friday to take you on a walk
I realize that it is time we had a serious talk
Living in the same house isn’t too bad,
We get along, we do, (most of the time)
But you always want to walk the talk
Which is something I can’t do.

If you ask me on a Saturday to bake a loaf of bread
I’d dive beneath the covers and immediately play dead.

But on a Sunday, oh, beautiful glorious Sunday,
How I truly love everything about you, my little turtle dove.
Your messiness, your tidiness, your silly laugh, your hair
Everything mesmerizes me, for everything I care.
I know I am a nut job, but I am a Sunday flower
My special day I blossom, a gentle pleasant shower
Of goodwill to one and all, even to you, my pet
For the rest of the week, you may have many a regret
At having plighted your troth to this strange behemoth
Of a person who is so strange, so weird,
And yet, there must be something in me,
Which to you has me endeared.
I’ll cook, I’ll clean, I’ll walk, I’ll talk
Whatever you want I’ll do.
I’ll whisper sweet nothings in your ear,  
we can even go to the Zoo.
If you desire, I’ll light a fire
Behind the garden shed
We’ll have a barbecue, just me and you
Next to the old rose bed.

What pleases you will please me too,
I will be your willing slave
For the rest of my life, until I rest in my grave.

Stupid old romantic, with these silly Sunday antics
I can see these thoughts float within your mind
I try my best, on Sunday, to be kind.
If you ask me, just today, if I love you, I’d say Yeah.

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