There was a farmer’s daughter,
And Gertrude was her name.
She didn’t turn out all that great.
Perhaps her parents were to blame?
Her smile was like curdled milk,
All thick and full of germs.
She ate the milk that fermented
With her best friends, the worms.
One worm in particular
Was a rapper by his trade.
One day he greeted her, “Yo Gert!”
And history was made.
So when you eat your Dannon,
Yoplait, Greek, or normal,
Remember Gert and the gangsta worm
And don’t be so darn formal.
There are very few problems
That cannot be solved
By a handful of raisins
And a baseball bat.
How do those fix it?
Is that what you said?
I was hoping you wouldn’t
Ask me that…
What comes up comes down.
If that’s true, then why won’t my
Frisbee leave the roof?
I don’t think Lewis and Clark
Were friends, like historians claim.
I think Clark forced Lewis to come
By threatening to reveal his first name.
There was a teenager from Kiev
That people oft told how to liev.
He painted a plate
As blank as a slate
With all the shits he didn’t giev.
Gyration of the eyes and hips,
The longing of a thousand lips,
A table full of pop and chips,
And me there in the corner.
Five-hundred pairs of dancing shoes,
A playlist full of swing and blues,
And I’m in naught but tennis shoes
For lack of an adorner.
A dozen spinning disco lights,
Glow rods in their flinging flights,
Cast shadows o’er my lack of tights.
I pray I’m not discovered.
A shrieking piercing through my head!
I feel like I’m made of lead,
As I awaken in my bed
Where, yes, I am uncovered.
Two and a half beards
Celebrating your many,
Many, many, many years.
I wrote these stanzas
To know that you smiled.
Happy Birthday Mom
From your second-best child.