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!”
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