The Curse of Cupid

A little riff for the little rat.

It's time for the yearly song and dance
from that little creep in his underpants.
If you really want to find romance,
then go for it, if you dare.

His pudgy cheeks (the ones on his face).
His wrinkled Huggies with tattered lace.
I'd keep my distance, just in case
those panties start to tear.

That evil brat just shot an arrow
right through the head of a nearby sparrow,
and now he's chewing on its marrow.
It's quite a gross affair.

He says he wants to find us love,
and watch us swoon 'neath stars above.
But that's a bit perverted, sort of,
from a kid in his underwear.

He's back to haunt us every year,
no doubt assuming we find him dear.
But if he shows his face 'round here
I'll shoot the freak, I swear.


         20 lines

Author's note - Written for a Bard's Hall challenge to write a really bad poem about Cupid. So the lower the star rating, the better.