The Peeping Tom

The Peeping Tom By Elton Camp Warily he looked about To see if cops were out Into the dark yard Tom crept Then to a window he stepped What usually gave him a thrill This time brought only a chill Bertha was standing inside Cellulite and leathery hide Three hundred was her weight The very sight Tom did hate The wrong house he’d sought A former beauty gone to pot When poor Tom she spied, “So take a look,” she cried “Don’t think I’ll pitch a fit. You deserve what you get!”