I dub thee
‘Sir Snuggly’
Since ‘Kid Cuddly’
Is no name for a prince
Also, henceforth, you must
Marry ‘Miss Money Grubby’.

You deserve a death sentence
So take her as your penance.

She’ll be like a bad buddy
Who’ll show no love or romance,
She won’t clean you when you’re muddy,
Be seen with you if your face is stubbly,
Be queen to your king,
Unless you give miss princess,
Her highness, more than everything!—

The whole delicious thickened chicken wing.
And then you must do the dishes and sing
For the cold, partially eaten, scraps she flings
Upon your lap
While you bring
Her your cheek to slap.

And if she’s still hungry?
Allow her to eat your thumbs nubby
Piece by piece—
But not so subtly—
Day by day—
Until you’re weak with disease.

And then I bet she’ll ease
You off a cliff,
But only if you ask her, “please!”