BANG BANG BANG

I’ve grown accustomed to her mace,
every time that breaks my chin.
I’ve grown accustomed to the gloom
preceding the BOOM!
No smiles, just frowns
when she’s in town.
I’m going to get a pasting now—
I see the clout that’s coming in.
She is just like an armorer with a harmin’-ya amulet.
Later I will go assuage the pain with gin. . .
to wet
my whistle. True a shepherd’s crook,
would be a better choice
for me instead of mace.

She will beat me now—with drenching tears my eyes fill—
no doubt about it: I’m feeling pretty sore.
She will beat me now, getting ready for the drill
She’s re-armed, raising her arm to pain some more.
I feel sometimes I really oughta
ask her if she will give it a rest.
I look like a steer at slaughter
as she thuds the club squarely on my chest.
But I know I will get to live another day,
so I just let her continue with her work.
I’d ask her to put the weaponry away,
but I don’t want to seem an ungrateful jerk.

Dour Eliza, she is so spiteful
Humiliating me is delightful
to her, though not to me; but I have given up the fight.
She would not bring on the tears if she’d just nag
instead of treating to a beating for perceived slight.
But now I just take it and no longer squall.
And she knows now that I haven’t got the nerve—
when she’s in mace mood, I ward blows from eyes and snout.

Yes, I’m a most forgiving man.
Seems I’ve forever stood; never would
make opposition and never hold a grudge—
a most forgiving man.
Some say “masochist”—they’re off track.
I ain’t exactly crawling on my knees
up to her then to intone:
“Beat me like a dog with bone!”
Or, “I am begging you to mace me, please!!”

I am in an entropic way,
So I don’t run away.
I move my nose,
avoid those blows.
I’m going to get a paining now. . .
the beating bout will now begin.

Not really hateful, this woman—
it’s just that she likes to set
mace into its orbit. . .
all kinds does it take.

Regret
have I? No, to make such a case
Would not really be fair.
I just shrug, take the mace.