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Controlled Euthanasia (Free verse) by Dovina
He sat on the couch after bungling the dishes omitting the corners ignoring my wishes A little strychnine a death in time and he’ll be all right this weak man of mine I came from behind armed and emboldened jammed the syringe down into his shoulder I pressed in the plunger and ran to the john afraid but not sorry it had to be done A moan and some stomping the clasp of a door a flopping syringe had dropped to the floor He returned without change from punishment earned no gift or repentance no lesson was learned Next day he’d forgotten to take out the trash so I looked at devices to help my man crash After feeding him poison with plenty of salt my hand touched his chest explaining his faults But soon he was up out the door, it was strange no mention of illness no mention of change

Up the ladder: This > That...Why?
Down the ladder: Dear Bartleby

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Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
 GraphVotes
10  .. 00
.. 00
.. 20
.. 00
.. 00
.. 00
.. 00
.. 00
.. 00
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.. 10

Arithmetic Mean: 5.3333335
Weighted score: 5.0397344
Overall Rank: 7117
Posted: January 25, 2007 1:47 PM PST; Last modified: January 25, 2007 1:47 PM PST
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Comments:
[n/a] Dovina @ 208.127.72.149 | 25-Jan-07/1:47 PM | Reply
Dovina: Inspired by “One in Ten Thousand,” Athena Workman, GUD. Just click at your left.
[8] Ranger @ 62.252.32.15 | 26-Jan-07/5:03 AM | Reply
The last stanza's great and the rhythm's good. It feels like it's missing a bit though; I tend to work in threes - you've given two punishments here, maybe a third would add to the effect?

I've never seen a syringe flop, or is that line just innuendo?
[n/a] Dovina @ 208.127.72.100 > Ranger | 26-Jan-07/11:15 AM | Reply
He got up from the sofa, syringe still in his shoulder where it flopped as he walked to the door, then fell on the floor. Your pun is good too; I hadn’t thought of it. Three times is good when killing a man, or writing poems. I might do that.
[n/a] richa @ 81.179.135.216 | 28-Jan-07/1:46 PM | Reply
I read the gud one. The only bit I liked was the end when she found him with peanut butter and struggling with a loaf of bread. I'm not sure the poem makes any sense though.
[n/a] Dovina @ 208.127.72.242 > richa | 28-Jan-07/2:26 PM | Reply
It is a bit exaggerateed; try to think of the way some women treat their man.
[8] SupremeDreamer @ 75.35.231.137 | 31-Jan-07/9:59 AM | Reply
I pressed in the plunger
and ran to the john
afraid but not sorry
it had to be done

Ok, say this out loud to yourself. Notice anything? I do. John doesn't ryhme with done. Perhaps Don, but not done. That aside, I bless you with an eight.
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