Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 124, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 757 & 758, September/October 2004

I’m afraid of the thoughts that go round in my head,

For more and more often, I think of you dead.

With bludgeon, with hammer, with poison and pain,

You’ve much to lose; I’ve much to gain.

My home will be quiet, my kitchen so clean.

My floors will have that “just polished” sheen.

The only opinion that counts will be mine.

No compromise, no sharing, oh, won’t that be fine!

So how shall I do it and when will it be?

Well, that will be up to both you and to me.

Take those muddy shoes off; put a dish in the sink;

Pick up after yourself; maybe buy me a mink.

Those rings round the bathtub will just have to go;

Now do you understand what maddens me so?

I’m patient; I’ve given chances — all that I can.

But I’m tired of hearing, “I’m a typical man.”

It’s no fun following you round with a broom,

Crumbs fall from your mouth as you move room to room!

So the next time you see my eyes start to flash,

It’s that exact moment that could be your last.