All Comments on 'Canning Mr. Wrong'

Okay, so this is about canning a man for real? Is he chopped up into chunks? Reminds me of some older poems of mine. One was about me being in a box and the box having my arms and legs and running down the stairs and tripping my ex and he dies. Anyway, reminds me of my fun, sadistic poetry. You need to write a part two, where there's a food shortage because of a natural disaster and the only thing left to eat is... well, he'd finally be good for something.

You are one sick puppy! Love it!

we have all had a mr. wrong to whom we wanted to do this - or something equally horrific. yours sounds so much prettier than what i wanted to do.. and that is the perfect touch. something so twilight zone-ish expressed poetically.. so pretty and so deadly. keep writing i love your style. slavegurl

Is that a maniacal laugh I hear as a jar of pickled pecker is examined?

who turned her husband into a set of plaid place mats...

Good recipe, too!

but I think I would have composted him myself. Great poem. :-)

is becoming a lost family art, TK U MLJ LV NV