In Sandy on a Sund’y
Can’t even buy a pie
The High Street is a ghost town
From some Kafkaesque sci-fi.
Not a single caf is open
No point in asking ‘Why?’
So I’ll just go down
To the Rose and Crown
And give their roast a try.
The film set has now altered
To a Sergio Leone
The barman with the hang-dog look
Is sitting all alone.
I enquire after Sunday Lunch
His reply comes Brummily spoken.
‘No food today,
I’m afraid to say.
The chef’s right arm is broken.’
So homeward I trudge
To a can of stodge
That I’d been keeping handy
And I curse the day
I decided to stay
In this Sabbath-subserving Sandy.
Categories:
sundy, humor,
Form: Rhyme
deer mister god: momy said i coud rite a leter by mysef to you
i'd lik to talk on the fone with you but this wil half to do
id reely lik to set on yur lap, ticle you and pul yur beerd
maybee sumday i can do that if you woudn think me weerd
i want you to no i ben good and go to churc and sundy skool
my sundy skool techer has ben teaching us the goldy rool
be sur to be in churc next sundy, il show you my nuu shooz
il make sur dady nos yur ther so he wont tak his snooz
ther is sum things i ben wantin to ask you about
is it ok if i dont have to eat all my brusel sprout
momy says you ar al around us but i have nevr seen you
ar you playin hid and seek and playin triks on me too
nuther thing i ben wunder about is who invented lite
wuz it you or mister edisun pleaz tel me wich is rite
tel me what reely hapen to al them dinersors
and why do dadies have to fite in al the wars
momy says im geting a litle bruthr but wont you tak pity
what i reely want frum you or santi claws is a flufy kity
i luv you as many as the stars and want you as my frien
tak good care uf yursef mister god yur pen pal mary ann
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Categories:
sundy, childhoodme, me,
Form: Rhyme