The Contract

©2008 Dave Clegg

The doorbell rings, I know just who it is. 

It's the punk who has a date with my sweet daughter.

Attitude, hair down in his eyes,

And I'm wondering if he’s heard of soap and water.

“Right this way, you can wait in here.

She should be downstairs most anytime.”

He shrugs his boney shoulders and says, “Whatever.” 

(The sorry little no-good sack of slime!) 

I sat him down in the dining room,

Crossed my arms and lowered my voice deep.

You should have seen the look of panic in those beady eyes 

When I said, “Listen up, you little creep!”

“I’ve never carried out an urge to kill.

Not even sure if I’d know how.

But, sonny boy, I’m a real fast learner.

And there’s no better time to start than now.”

I laid a contract on the table where he sat,

Stuck an ink pen in his grubby fist.

No lawyer-talk, no legalese, 

Just twelve simple lines that read like this:

   I, (sign your name) do swear to keep

   My hands in my pockets (except to drive)

   And I hereby agree, if I so much as touch this girl,

   I will forfeit my right to stay alive.

   I solemnly swear upon my future grave.

   To have your precious daughter home by ten.

   I furthermore acknowledge, if I’m one second late,

   They’ll have to notify my next of kin.

   I approve, but will not limit you to,

   The following methods of my demise:

   Electrocution, hanging, disembowelment,

   Or a single bullet right between the eyes. 

He jumped up and bolted for the door

Left strips of flaming rubber on our road. 

That’s how it goes when your teenage Prince Charming.
Turns out to be just another toad.