Sometimes I take a bath
To ease the stress of taxation.
I fill the tub with herbs
Such as thyme for relaxation.
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Like an inexpensive cut of meat
Stewed for many a lukewarm hour
You’re welcome when sold on my street
But far less welcome in my shower.
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Nevertheless
Always the more
Seldom the -ible
But often the horr-
Too much conniption
For such a poor fit
This new lack of him/her
Well, I’m tired of it
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If you’re rubber
And I’m glue
You can call me anything
And I’m just screwed…
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My Uncle was a pussy.
My Grandpa was a wimp.
My Father was a chicken
And my Brother is a shrimp.
My Cousins are all cowards
And my Nephews are namby-pamby
Just ’cause I’m the guy
Who shot the mom of Bambi.
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I danced a sappy sort of waltz-
The type that’s rife with lots of schmaltz.
The I passed out, demonstrating my faults.
That’s why I’m grateful for smellingsalts.
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I looked at all the people
Seated in their chairs.
I told them “I won’t paint the steps”
But I only got blank stares.
The quality of being amusing,
A mood or state of mind,
To comply with someone’s wishes
Or, to kids, the word “behind.”
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A monstrous weasel murdered me
Yesterday around 8:00.
It was rather inconvenient
Which is why this poem’s so late.
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The Daily Travesty 