We have been in our new house for one week.
While I would like to gush and go on about
how wonderful it has been,
I can not.
For the day our pods arrived in the driveway,
decided he would like to move in also.
Mr. Malady is a boorish and crass fellow.
He is unpleasant and pushy and rude.
Mr. Malady is your crazy Uncle (once removed)
who ruins Thanksgiving dinner.
Mr. Malady is "that guy"
who kindly gets escorted from the restaurant
for being far too boisterous.
Mr. Malady is a ne'er do well
who likes to do the lame finger guns thing.
I do not like Mr. Malady's personality.
Mr. Malady arrived with lots of luggage in tow.
Not those pretty bags with LV's embossed about the leather,
or those savvy samsonite vintage types
in mustard and red.
Mr. Malady came with
tattered and torn satchels.
Totes that looked as if they had been long forgotten
in the dank depths of baggage claim.
Mr. Malady's bags were filled with
fever, and aches, and pains.
Horrible things that TSA officials
would never let through security.
I do not like Mr. Malady's parcels.
Mr. Malady likes to be in charge.
He didn't take kindly to Mr. Nyquil, or Mrs. Tylenol.
He scoffed in their faces.
He triumphed in their inabilities.
I do not like Mr. Malady's arrogance.
Mr. Malady pretended he didn't hear me
when I asked him politely to leave.
He turned a deaf ear when
I told him it was time to pack his bags.
Mr. Malady is now trying to influence my kids,
oh no he di'int...
I am a lover, not a fighter
but Mr. Malady has left me no choice.
I'm taking my earrings out
pulling my hair back
and greasing up my face
cuz it's on...
My door is no longer open to you
So guess what?
get to steppin...