Progress: This is today’s poem, another pantoum (a bit broken, and without the changing meanings for the repeated lines that make me so love pantoums), written last night. I figure since it’s too slight to be published, I’d post it here where some people might get a kick out of it. The entire poem consists exclusively of things I overheard him saying.

My Husband Plays World of Warcraft

 
There’s me, dying.
I’m going to need some heals here.
Seriously, I’m about to die.
Shit, I got hit.

I’m going to need some heals here –
not to tell you how to do your job or anything.
Shit, I got hit again.
Yeah, 300% damage.

Not to tell you how to do your job or anything,
but I’m getting my shit knocked here:
300% damage,
alright? I understand how this works now.

I’m getting my shit knocked here –
seriously, I’m about to die.
Alright, I understand how this works now.
And, I’m dead.

Prompt for today: from the P&W Speakeasy, “the scent of ______.”

Mirrored at Vary the Line.