The Mukherjee- Stuffing the Stuffing
The child's loose curls doth bounce so lightly on his head,
Causing a tight pain in my strange heart.
Oh, how could it not! How could this babe not bring back a humorous, paining memory?
It was...
The Mukherjee.
Tall, be-pimpled, gangly, tennis god, deep of voice, shy of girls,
You-who-seemed-to-never-speak, I adored you!
And that adoration translation
became silence, hiding behind my fringe!
My conquest of you, had, in, my mind,
Failed. So I rushed for a glass of water,
Oh fateful, Christmas day.
The baby reminded me of future we could have had,
Amit Mukherjee.
Remember? Remember, with trembling hands, I beseech,
Look upon my face, and the hands, which so embarrassed me.
The tale I must grudgingly and happily tell.
Christmas day, I had not eaten, my stomach as bare inside as the manger we didn't have,
I went into the kitchen, swearing to this day, for a glass of water,
WATER, If only I had just water, sipping demurely,
We might be Mr and Mrs Mukherjee.
Instead, my stomach demons doth growl,
Oh how they did howl and howl!
Food, food, real food, they cried terribly and loudly out,
And I obeyed, behaving like a lout.
Snatched that greasy turkey, putting it into my mouth,
Stuffing my mouth with stuffing,
Greasy goodness, I moaned, the oil making my fingers slick,
Reaching another for a white piece of breast,
fingers clumsily plucking from a dead white bird.
Thusly, he walked in. I froze, the turkey in mouth, fingers and hair!
My face was greased, my pure unadulterated shame laid bare -
Such a pain. That turkey went down my gullet, and
straight to my heart, giving me heartburn.
I choked silently, the bit of turkey wedged so painfully in my trachea,
And you reached up to a cupboard, opening and closing,
for a glass of water,
while I choked whilst stuffing some stuffing,
into my cavernous gaping mouth.
You thankfully ignored me, completely until I obsoletely
cured myself of the meat stuck in my throat.
Oh, the babe! Not you, the infant! I would have made such a good hilarious girlfriend.
Thanks to me surviving the stuffing.
Except you would have let me choke! EW, Ew, the imagined turkey swims up my throat, I grimace.
I'm so worth more.
Stupid the Mukherjee is.
Causing a tight pain in my strange heart.
Oh, how could it not! How could this babe not bring back a humorous, paining memory?
It was...
The Mukherjee.
Tall, be-pimpled, gangly, tennis god, deep of voice, shy of girls,
You-who-seemed-to-never-speak, I adored you!
And that adoration translation
became silence, hiding behind my fringe!
My conquest of you, had, in, my mind,
Failed. So I rushed for a glass of water,
Oh fateful, Christmas day.
The baby reminded me of future we could have had,
Amit Mukherjee.
Remember? Remember, with trembling hands, I beseech,
Look upon my face, and the hands, which so embarrassed me.
The tale I must grudgingly and happily tell.
Christmas day, I had not eaten, my stomach as bare inside as the manger we didn't have,
I went into the kitchen, swearing to this day, for a glass of water,
WATER, If only I had just water, sipping demurely,
We might be Mr and Mrs Mukherjee.
Instead, my stomach demons doth growl,
Oh how they did howl and howl!
Food, food, real food, they cried terribly and loudly out,
And I obeyed, behaving like a lout.
Snatched that greasy turkey, putting it into my mouth,
Stuffing my mouth with stuffing,
Greasy goodness, I moaned, the oil making my fingers slick,
Reaching another for a white piece of breast,
fingers clumsily plucking from a dead white bird.
Thusly, he walked in. I froze, the turkey in mouth, fingers and hair!
My face was greased, my pure unadulterated shame laid bare -
Such a pain. That turkey went down my gullet, and
straight to my heart, giving me heartburn.
I choked silently, the bit of turkey wedged so painfully in my trachea,
And you reached up to a cupboard, opening and closing,
for a glass of water,
while I choked whilst stuffing some stuffing,
into my cavernous gaping mouth.
You thankfully ignored me, completely until I obsoletely
cured myself of the meat stuck in my throat.
Oh, the babe! Not you, the infant! I would have made such a good hilarious girlfriend.
Thanks to me surviving the stuffing.
Except you would have let me choke! EW, Ew, the imagined turkey swims up my throat, I grimace.
I'm so worth more.
Stupid the Mukherjee is.
Comments
Post a Comment