I told my wife that she looks like a wicked witch.
And then I had to go to the hospital to be stitched.
She’s always been angry and bitter because she’s not good looking.
She looks even more like a witch when she eats because her face turns green from my terrible cooking.
She tells people that she’s pretty but they refuse to hear her.
I have to clean up the broken glass after she looks in mirrors.
If each broken mirror brings seven years of bad luck, she’s in for seven hundred unlucky years.
I also have bad luck because she says that she’ll never leave me and that drives me to tears.
This is a fictional poem.