Wake Me When the Wart Is Over – by Jennie Thalia

Wake Me When the Wart Is Over – by Jennie Thalia

Although I could not write free verse
Free verse wrote to me
The carriage held three of a kind
And I, banality

Then death arose to offer snacks
Pudding cups and brie
Miss Dickinson thought it a ruse
And fondly cut the cheese

Perhaps, kind sir, the air is chilled
By this unholy scum
Now drop your pantaloons and cough
And I shall warm thy buns

Good madam, please, you’ve been so kind
Now plowing I must go
In fertile valleys full of elves
Where have I put my ho?

O, grab my arse and ride away
These steeds may give a snort
Unless of course the steel is bent
Or else the blade is short