Day Twenty-eight

Today's words:

Widow

Miser

Warship

Mutton

Fin

Parrot

"Widow,"

What an awful, hollow word. A true miser

Of sound and feeling. I told him not to get on that warship,

But that's done. And now I must subsist on mutton,

And fin

Stew and other such offal, while people parrot

Their sympathies at me. Well I'll not parrot

My thanks back at them. If widow

I am, so be it. But I've still got a fin

Or two. No need to live like a miser

Yet. Let the sailors eat their mutton

Stew as they wait on their warship

To join him. He was so proud of that warship.

When he'd say that word I'd change it to "worship," like a parrot

Who wasn't quite right. Well now I'll put on my leg o'mutton

Sleeves and dress like a proper widow

While smiling at the miser

Next door, who hasn't parted with a fin

In ages. He knew how to spend a fin,

My husband did, before that warship

Took him from me. No miser

Was he, nor senseless parrot.

I so miss our conversations! As a widow

I talk only to myself, but it's like talking to mutton,

Except that you can at least eat mutton.

I'd rather be a mermaid, with a long tail fin,

Luring a sailor, looking to create a new widow,

Calling him off that warship.

Is that what happened to mine? How I'd like to parrot

His words back to him now. I'd be no miser

With my thoughts, nor a miser

With my charms. But I fear they've grown as dull as mutton.

Maybe I'll buy a parrot

So someone will at least make a sound. But I do think it was the tail fin

That lured him from that warship

And made of me a widow.

So here we are: the miser stroking his fin,

The sailors eating mutton on the warship,

And the parrot refusing to talk for the widow.