Riff on gajanan mishra poem, “Wife is trouble; shoot her.”
The problem of writing poetry
In a foreign tongue:
You tend to misconstrue the meaning
Whence inspiration’s sprung;
I cite your poem drawn from life
As a living example
The guy wants you to shoot his wife,
His desperation ample;
Like Hitchcock’s “Strangers on a Train”
He wants you to bump her off,
His truncated clear refrain.
“Do mine, I’ll do yours, ” he whispers through a cough
“This way you’ll have an alibi
While the deed is done
Protected by a double lie;
Don’t forget to ditch the gun.”
There’s a guy out there in the grassy rubble,
Taking a bead upon your wife;
If you think she’s worth the trouble,
Try and save her life.
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Riff on gajanan mishra poem, “Wife is trouble; shoot her.” The problem of writing poetry In a foreign tongue: You tend to misconstrue the meaning Whence inspiration’s sprung; I cite your poem drawn from life As a living example The guy wants you to shoot his wife, His desperation ample; Like Hitchcock’s “Strangers on a Train” He wants you to bump her off, His truncated clear refrain. “Do mine, I’ll do yours, ” he whispers through a cough “This way you’ll have an alibi While the deed is done Protected by a double lie; Don’t forget to ditch the gun.” There’s a guy out there in the grassy rubble, Taking a bead upon your wife; If you think she’s worth the trouble, Try and save her life.