by Martin Anton Smith martinantonsmith@gmail.com

I once wed a girl called Yippy Y’Pong,
Or Y Y for short, which incidentally, she was.
Sadly it was ‘culture wars’ did untie our fragile ‘Knot’.
Yes we got what we got,
& we got the lot.

The disagreements were decidedly epic.
Was there passive aggressiveness?
Yes -it was unfortunately unwaveringly,
& underminingly uncomfortable.
So sadly, we soon divorced.

The worry in the aftermath,
was equal to mathematical infinity.
Yes – with my heart being so broken,
My beefy baritone voice,
Became so softly spoken.

My heart was so swiftly smashed,
In a seismic click in the fingers,

That created a pulmonary shock wave.

The pump went from foppish aflutter – to apoplectic palpitation.

It all happened in the blink of an tear filled eye

So perilous was this fact,
Its stringy moorings were no longer in-tact.
It Olympically jumped out my chest,
& splattered downwards Into the gruesome gutter,
& Then fell down the dangling drain.

I stood dispiritingly dejected,
& Without much mutter.
I stood stoopily
Literally heartless & unhappy
At being so exquisitely most definitely undone.

Even worse there was Yippy Y’Pong
Just standing there watching
When my heart rattled down the drain with a
“Da Doink Da Doink Da Doink”

And here’s my point:
O why O why
Did I marry someone called
Yippy Y’Pong?
With her ‘culture wars’ in tow?
Alas! I was drunk with on Love!
Blinded by dead doves.

To her,
My flights of fancy,
were far more than just chancy,
They were deadly:
I might bore her to death.

& what started it all?
A conversation…a silly conversation!
She said ‘alls fair in love & war’
& then I replied glibly
“Yes, but we all know war is a racket”
then she added to my words
“..but love is a club”
Yes audience – to that –
I groaned loudly at her.

From then on,
For Yippy Y’Pong
I was as they say – ‘well gone’:
For She couldn’t stand a hypocrite…
Let alone be married to one.

P.s. To my knowledge YY is still single & annoyed with me
But is now known as “Dennis McLloyd”.