Love’s last cup . . .

Imagine my surprise,

When I looked into her eyes,

& she stabbed me in the back

With a shiv.

I fell onto the floor,

Shaken deeply to my core,

Yelping, “Julie, don’t you know,

I might not live!”

She kicked me in the head,

Hoping that I might be dead,

Gently whispering with a voice

Chilled as ice:

“I’ve met another boy,

A handsome youth named Troy.

He’s very rich, has a horse

& treats me nice.”

“Juliet,” I sadly sighed.

“I’ll hurry up & die,

All I ask for is the gift

Of one last favor.

“Whip me up a little brew,

Something old & something new;

Eyes of newt, a touch of bat,

With dark roast flavor.”

Julie neatly mixed it up,

Put it in a china cup,

Brooding: “What might satisfy

This dead man’s thirst?”

I saw her jealousy:

“Why give him, what’s good for me?”

So humbly I deferred:

“Dear, drink it first.”

Imagine her surprise,

When she looked into my eyes;

One last twinkle,

As I made my final sound:

“You’ll be dying, too,

From the poison in that brew.”

Then she fell …

Thudding broadly to the ground.