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!
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