John and Diane are enjoying a game
Of Scrabble with slices of cake and two teas.
He uses an L in 'hello' to make 'flame'.
Diane considers her letters and sees

The trouble she fears if she spells the word 'spilling',
The rubble of squares at the end of their Scrabble,
Their worries and cares returning, re-filling,
A chance for her husband to angrily babble.

He'll rise from his chair with a scowl on his face,
An unwelcome fall from the place in his head
Where he feels he exists in perpetual grace.
He'll think he's becoming fate's lab rat instead.

A mention of spilling reminds him of painting
The near-mansion owned by his brother, whose wife
Always makes John feel his presence is tainting
The intricate decor inspired by her life.

He's angry that she had the nerve to complain
Over a speck of white paint on the ground.
It made an expanding black cloud on his brain,
And sometimes it rains with a thunderous sound.

She keeps pointing out where he 'spilled' the white spot.
But he's never spelled out the thoughts she inspires.
She thinks she's a butterfly. He sees a moth,
With all of the charm of an old pair of pliers.

And she thinks she's smarter than him just because
She went to college and he went to Louth.
But she should have gone to the Wizard of Oz
To ask for a brain that's been cleared of its cloud.

She spends a large part of each day spilling paint
On paper or canvasses. She calls it art.
She gives her works titles like 'I'm feeling faint'.
He suggests titles like 'Bad colour chart'.

On seeing a painting called 'Sadness and Strife'
He asked her why all of her art has to cast her
As some sort of permanent victim to life,
As someone who's prone to distress and disaster.

She told him the world was a long vale of tears.
She's lost in the sea far away from the shore.
Fate won't run short of slings, arrows and spears.
The occasional times of ceasefire are a bore.

He said he could frame the white spot in the hall,
And claim it's a painting for phonies and cheats.
She said he could call it 'The site of my fall',
Or 'Why didn't I cover the floor with old sheets?'.

Diane can see all the trouble she'll cause
If she reminds him of these minor woes.
He won't stop complaining -- it's one of his flaws.
He's building a mammoth collection of foes.

But she can't resist a triple word score
By adding an S and an 'ing' to his 'pill'.
His rant begins and she heads for the door
To make herbal tea that will help him to chill.