I'm Going to Your Mother's House...

[jdeirmend]

        It was the day birds died,
        the day you, me, us departed.

        Seeing you knelt on our bed
        trussed like pig on a stick
        taking it boy scout style;
        gave me an erection.

        I was embarrassed.

        Why not a Shirley Temple lie
        while licking a lollipop?
        It would have been much sweeter
        than grunts of infidelity.

        I could have pretended.

        The twelve bore was as snug
        as Harry's hairy bollocks,
        lay asleep behind its blued-steel door
        your bore was less safe.
        Harold was a 90's dose master,
        the one,
        the only eternal crab.

        I woke the sleeping weapon
        blasted your two poodles;
        one barrel per parody.

And departed.

---

i used departed at the end in the hope of hooking back to the start, not sure if it works.

The scene is vivid and gripping.

From "harold" to "crab", however, I am as lost as Chris was. There are perhaps many other allusive ways you can describe the guy as a drug dealer, that aren't so dense as to elude most readers. Also, to describe the shotgun as snug, to me, begs for some imagery involving the loading of the weapon.

The "day the birds died" begs for some elaboration, and my expectations are confounded once you get to the actual victims: poodles. Why poodles, and not cockatiels, or toucans, or yellow-naped Amazonians, for that matter? I suppose there is something intrinsically parodic or farcical about a poodle qua dog. If the birds at the beginning are the metaphorical birds of love, though, why not return to them instead?

The indentation of the final line is the perfect device. It accomplishes a sense of departure that is quite satisfying, particularly given what came before.

Hope that helps. It was a good read.