R.S.V.P.

Thanks for the invitation, but last time you wouldn't let Molly past the front door. She hasn't forgotten and neither have I. 

What was the big thing with making me take my boots off?

Ooooh, imported rugs,

and everybody making a big deal out of your barfy tea.

Bitch, please.

Next thing you'll build a she-shed with paper walls.

Nope, me and Molls will be nine miles from here,

Molls with her ear buds in.

(She likes western swing.)

We stop and doze any time we want,

Molly dreaming of a bag of warm oats

and me dreaming that I'm dreaming, which will be true.

So go step in a gopher hole, girl.

You can post it on social media and call it a wine grotto.

_____

for Sunday Muse #82 where I am hostessing. Bring your pony.

Poor Werewolf

A wealthy werewolf wearing worsted and a Windsor tie,
wondered whether I'd witnessed a wench -- his wife.

I said, she whispered to me that she can't stand stubble--
which, for you, I think, means trouble.

On Wednesday last, she wandered by and slept
with me; and when the werewolf heard -- that worthy wept.
_____

for Marian's letter W prompt at Toads