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Dewey Whetsell Poem
Uncle Russ, never made much a fuss,
he was just kinda sorta rambunctious.
The whole whetsell bunch, when in a crunch
bent the rules without much compunction.
The cops, unamused, and very short-fused,
in Detroit they did ruff up my dad.
But that’s not so bad, when Russ they did grab
in Chicago and pounded him dead.
Now, none of this mess, you ever would guess,
had to do with those two I detailed.
But was my uncle Melf, a felon himself
so illusive, he never was jailed.
Snappy dressers, but never confessors,
dad and Russ remained so tight-lipped
Melf split so fast, the cops were aghast.
that they never knew when he skipped.
FBI with binocs, surrounded the block
at granny’s memorial service,
hoping that Melf, might show up himself
to pay some respects, although nervous.
Melf vaporized, the cops realized,
and they stopped accosting the clan.
Too late for Russ, since all of this fuss
cost him literally all that he had.
Copyright © Dewey Whetsell | Year Posted 2006
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Details |
Dewey Whetsell Poem
He walked with the dignity of a
kingdom as old as the written word.
The goodness and figure of a father,
he died under the sighs of the pharaohs.
The sacrificing Christ of his convictions,
unflinching, faced the lions of his legions.
Copyright © Dewey Whetsell | Year Posted 2006
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