A Curveball With Mustard On It

O, rats. I've been assigned to write a serious poem As if a boy can snap his fingers and grow 'em What's worse, I hear it has to be a sonnet I'll just throw 'Teach' a curveball with a dollop of mustard on it Romance and yucky kissing, just not in my wheelhouse Better to write about Tom Sawyer's latest treehouse Or adventure with pirates, buried treasure, and alligators Hey, think she'd like verses about wrestling gladiators Why's she watching me with those beady eyes of hers Is she worried I'll pen cuss words or racial slurs She needn't bother: I'm as pure as the driven snow I've got it -- I'll write a sonnet 'bout Santa: Ho, Ho, Ho! Well, the class is nearly over; my sonnet is due Hope 'Teach' likes my Santa and Merry Christmas to you!