Very Lucky IndeedA Poem by Adele Potter"But, alas, with Annabelle K. Peterson, nothing is ever totally over."Annabelle K. Peterson was an independent woman Stubborn, stern, and never backing down She considered Oliver C. Thrive to be very lucky indeed For he had married her. And he was lucky. Very lucky indeed. One day, Annabelle K. Peterson and Oliver C. Thrive Decided to take the car around the country No reason; just to kill the hot summer day For they had nothing else to do. And that turned out to be lucky. Very lucky indeed. Annabelle and Oliver pulled up to a retail shop on the outskirts of town They decided to look around a bit, maybe buy a few things "Don't spend too much," Oliver warned his wife. But she didn't listen. Her husband was rich. That was lucky. Very lucky indeed. Annabelle did spend quite a bit; she always did. And Oliver was a little sick of it. Now, you have to understand, Anna and Ollie loved each other They loved one another more than anything They were lucky to have each other. Very lucky indeed. But the thing was, Oliver was a little sick Of paying too much for his wife's desires all the time. So, when she loaded her purchases into the car He drove off. Without his wife. But Annabelle was lucky. Very lucky indeed. Oliver congratulated himself when he got home. He thought he, for the first time in their six-year marriage, Had outwitted his wife. He thought it was over. But, alas, with Annabelle K. Peterson, nothing is ever totally over Which was why he felt he was lucky to have her. Very lucky indeed. Two hours later, a taxi pulled up in front of his house, And out climbed Annabelle K. Peterson, looking smug. She nodded to the driver, and thanked him in perfect Spanish. Annabelle had taken Spanish in school. That was lucky. Very lucky indeed. The driver opened the trunk, and lifted out The two ugliest urns Oliver had ever seen This, he realized, was his wife's revenge. She had most definitely won. She was lucky. Very lucky indeed. "See him?" she said (in Spanish), pointing to her husband on the porch. "The idiot who will be eating dinner alone at a retseraunt every night this week? "He'll pay you. Put the urns on the porch." And with that, Annabelle went inside to begin supper. Oliver was unlucky. Very unlucky indeed. But, he grew to love the urns. Even more than Annabelle herself. For they reminded him of his wonderful wife, And all they'd been through together. And that he really was lucky. Very lucky indeed.
© 2011 Adele PotterAuthor's Note
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3 Reviews Added on February 4, 2011 Last Updated on February 4, 2011 AuthorAdele PotterOHAboutHey. I'm Adele Potter, or at least I was last time I checked. I'm 13 years old, and I really love to write. I like writing about middle school students, black comedy, parodies of fantasy, and anyt.. more..Writing
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