Nestled in the Medieval wilderness, off the beaten path,
lived a jilted young woman in a tiny, shabby shack.
Madeline was her name, and she was planning a meal for her unsuitable suitors.

One would arrive at early lunch.
Her first to be expected was the gallant merchant from London Town, Marco. Vain and at times flighty he carried his own reflection to his heart. Madeline was the only one not to be fooled. His handsome looks faded her interest when he failed to make a planned date.
Oh how handsome he was, and never seen with a frown,
but Madeline surely did once he turned her down.

Who was worse than he?
That brings us to fair weather Pete. He would arrive for late lunch and dine hopefully with knife and fork. Claiming he was such a gent, but never expect him to throw out his cape,
oncoming carriages passing by,
splatter and splash;
watch the mud fly.
Stepping out of the way to avoid being hit in his fancy duds,
Madeline was slopped and caked with mud.
This of course was the extent of such a chivalrous stud.

She expected her visitors at one, two, and three.
What a splendid spread she would have with, ugh, for Marco and Pete.
She could hardly wait for her third guest to eat.

At one o'clock sharp, promptly Marco arrived.
Without a greeting he marched himself inside
. He took a seat at her table and batted his eyes. No food on the table. What an unfortunate surprise?
"Where is the meal I have come here for?" Marco insisted.

"All I ask is that you wait one minute.
Take a look around while I finish it." Madeline suggested.

"I don't think I will. I really must go." Marco stood up to leave.
Madeline gently grabbed on to his sleeve.

"To pass the time more quickly, why don't you bathe before we eat.
This cauldron here is bubbling with heat."
She said with her eyes shining bright.
Always one to conceal her lies, Madeline brought him nearer to the cauldron.
Without warning she pushed him in.
All of the screeching and hollering, oh what a sin.
She hated so pushing him in.

At two her second arrived, but he wasn't as easy to sway,
so poor Madeline was forced to behave.
His down right rude behavior was more than she could take.
This was his final and deadliest mistake. Seconds went by and Madeline said,
"You seem tired. Maybe you should first rest your head."
Peter did as he was told, and his fate was sold.
Madeline took from a shelf, a large mallet and hit him herself.
One blow was all it took, and so she tossed him in the pot with the other,
and was ready to cook.

Knock; knock, on the front door. Madeline rushed to answer it. It was Severin, the village idiot. Dumb and blind as he was, Madeline offered him her arm and let him in.
"Please, Severin, make your self at home."
She escorted him to the table where her feast was laid out. She could not help but be so proud.
Even though they were haughty and arrogant their flesh turned out quite well. Madeline pulled out his chair.
"Take as much as you like. In fact, I insist you eat every bite."
She said slyly.

Severin felt around for his knife and fork.
"What is it that you have made? Is it roasted pork?"

"Not quite, but I know it will serve your appetite."
Madeline smiled from behind. Thank heaven he was blind;
she needed someone not to witness her crime, nor leave any proof behind.
He never saw he was eating the hand of a wealthy man and the foot of a jerk.
Nor did he see the wicked grin permeating from Madeline's lips, so coy and pert.

What a grand feast she made for him.
Who knew there was such a use for these crude men?
Madeline hadn't a worry or even a care.
This in fact was their own fault; never on a wound do you pour salt.

Some girls like Madeline aren't so easy to ignore, or to treat so poor.
Be weary of femmes such as these. Sweet and lovely and eager to please,
wrong her, and you will see,
next you will become a dining delicacy.

Happy Valentine's Day 2001 from The Haunt.