Sonnet in Honour of the Boring (Darling, You've Got Me Snoring)

March 29, 2011
Were I to drink flat champagne,
Out of a flute or glass,
I’d know what it is to feel your pain,
For you’re devoid of spunk or sass.

O, you’ve bored us with your words,
A leech among the giving,
You speak while I stare at distant birds,
It’s you that takes life from the living.

You’re punctual and quite polite,
Yet indubitably enigmatic,
For your cruelty comes to light,
When your mannerisms become so automatic.

I wouldn’t wish anyone to glean your curse,
To be honest, I wouldn’t mourn to see you in a hearse.

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