The Argument

It's nonsense I said
As her codswallop hit my head
and I fell to the ground
your argument is flawed
and should be ignored
as her words began to pound

To get to the root
We decided to moot
As a fly in my ointment she was
But she flew off the handle
With a tidy preamble
As I started to talk but was paused

I did not know what to say
As she rambled away
As her opinion was rammed in my face
I need a quick thought
a witty retort
But with arsenic her words she did lace

I stumbled to find
she came right up behind
And slammed me as hard as can be
For she was too clever
With words she endeavoured
And was certainly outwitting me.

But wait, she takes breath
Amid silence and death
And this was my chance to win
I picked up a mutter
And like a knife through butter
I stuck my metaphor in.

She grasped at her chest
Her words needing rest
But there was nowhere to run
I made to exclaim
In apportioning blame
Don't question the size of my bum.

Copyright; T Wilson
Email: tom@scoosh.com