Icelandic Horse Connection

No Sale, Horse Poem by Harold Roy Miller

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No Sale
Harold Roy Miller

My wife was sittin at the computer keyboard
trying to sell a horse we couldn't afford.
She didn't look too pleased or glad
to be composing a horse-for-sale ad.

But I paid no mind to what her countenance said.
I arrogantly plunged right on ahead.
"Write this." I said, "Circumstances force
us to sell this fine trail horse."

I told her exactly what she should write
to get the future owner to bite.
I thought she was doing just what I told her
until I took a peek over her shoulder.

I always thought my wife was meek
but she showed a passive aggressive streak,
cuz the classified ad she created
was nothing like what I had dictated.

She'd written "For sale: Big black mean mare.
Come and ride her if you dare.
The last person to ride this belligerent female,
the search party found laid out on the trail.

"This big monster likes to buck and kick,
except for when she's coliced or sick.
But don't let that discourage you in the least.
We really need to sell this barn sour beast."

After I read what she was typin,
I knew there was no point in me gripin.
Her jaw was set, her face full of remorse,
there's no way in heck she's gonna sell this horse.

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