Unsingle

Marital bliss

Unsingle

Unsingle, disengaged from others

In that house squared off suburban

On the cul de sac circle dead end street

The one with a picket fence unattended by white

As it had never been painted

Sweetie, a witch with a head full of curlers

Frowns, wearing her green mask make up

To look pretty for her man, her Mr. Right

Just off a road called Twilight Zone Massacre

A bald person who calls himself husband

Has a head full of twisted thoughts as he is lost

Eyes glare out from windows void of light

A creature called wife stirs up a cauldron

Is it soup or poison tonight

She must look pretty for her man

If he is late there is no saying