Granddad is still here;
I wish he’d disappear.
I think it’s time he went
before all his money is spent.
I know he’s filthy rich —
Oh, how my fingers itch
to rob his stash of cash,
then I can make a splash
and lie around in the sun
with girls just having fun.
That old geezer’s eighty-seven.
I wish he’d toddle off to heaven.
It sure would make my day
if he was out of my way.
But he keeps on going strong —
what am I doing wrong?
I hit him with a brick,
and slipped him a dose of arsenic.
I tampered with his brakes;
I also put some snakes
in his underwear.
I half-sawed the legs of his chair.
I even dug a pit,
hoping he’d fall in it.
But he just outsmarts me,
and now he’s a hundred-and-three.
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| Writing Prompt |
Write a poem of any type that treats a serious subject as humor.
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This is serious
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