For the occasion of which I speak,
I wanted to wear my red, playful frock
Not the thing you chose,
that coarse, matronly smock.
As I dressed myself I realized
I could only find one purple reddish sock
You said you’d laundered both
Then told me not to squawk
choose sensible shoes and a different color sock
so all of the other people there don’t gawk!
My temperature rose wishing you wouldn’t watch me like that, like a hawk
For once let me be, let me
dress for this funeral
It’s not like he’s from
Royal effing stock!
You said I must stop all this independent talk
I said you’re overstepping, too bossy, on my last nerve
Get ready to take a walk!
“You always balk. All talk. What a crock!”
Now boiling over
Hearing only tic toc
Ouchy, oochy sounded like thwock!
That’s when it hit you,
the edge of the wok.
Better call old Doc.
Is he ever in for a shock!
A work of whimsical fiction for <a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/shock/”>Shock</a>