A rather unpleasant poem for V-Day.
|Jimmy raced in, all bug-eyed,
while mom was setting out his food.
“Mom,” he yelled, “a kid's outside.”
“Now, now,” she said, “don't come unglued.”
“Don't you want to go and see?”
“Later, maybe. Come to lunch.”
“But, mom, he can't be more than three.”
“Then maybe he would like some punch.”
“That baby's got a bow and arrow.”
“Hush up, dear, and eat your muffin.”
“He kinda looks like Mia Farrow.”
“Knock it off, boy. I'm not bluffin'.”
“His arrow's pointed at my head.”
“My gosh, you say some dopey things.”
“I hope you're sorry when I'm dead.”
“Oh, look, the boy has angel wings.”
“Eew, gross. He's out there in a diaper.”
“Don't fret, hon. I think he's Cupid.”
“Looks more like a dangerous sniper.”
“Goodness me, you're being stupid.”
“But I'm afraid that he might shoot me.”
“With love, dear, right into your heart.”
“And he'll use that diaper to pollute me.”
“Don't be gross, you little fart.”
“I think he's going to attack.”
“Oh, my gosh. He's breaking in.”
“Run, mom. He's a maniac.”
“He sure has an evil grin.”
“Let's hide in the laundry room.”
“No. We need to stop him here.”
“You can hit him with the broom.”
“Maybe he'll just disappear.”
“I don't think so. He's still there.”
“Quick. Hand me your butter knife.”
“Don't we have a gun somewhere?”
“Not since dad shot his first wife.”
“I think his diaper's coming loose.”
“Shoo, you monster. Go away.”
“Gross me out. Hey you, vamoose.”
“Ick. He's peeing. Watch the spray.”
Suddenly he turned and ran,
his diaper lying on the floor.
Mom edged it toward the garbage can
while Jimmy locked the kitchen door.
Cupid, meanwhile, unrefined,
ran naked out into the street.
And as a gift, he left behind
a chocolate valentine. How sweet.