The Plumber

Written by: Denise Hengeli

There once was a man, a New Yorker
Who was truly a cocky corker
He loved best his wife, and fixing bath pipes
With Bronx accent, a hearty talker

Fifty years he’d labored and toiled
Keeping pipes un-rusted and oiled
When no water drained, the women complained,
“Come fix it!   ‘Cause the floor is now soiled!"

With light in hand he crawled under sinks
Slithered and slid among all those chinks
He worked for the money for his honey
No more teasing or joking high-jinks

Water flowed; it’s time to retire
Move South where old people perspire
Riding on 'trikes with high flying flags
With large baskets for folks to admire

He never thought he'd have such sore bones
"Tho he's always been accident prone
Pedaling by his now startled wife
He's riding through three time zones!