Channel The Avuncular
My Uncle says, "The weasel never sings."
We humor him and say, "You're right again!"
We love him for the whisky that he brings
He stumbles home, he sleeps a bit and then
Wakening, plaits tinsel through his hair
We humor him and say, "You look a treat!"
Sometimes he tries to channel Fred Astaire
But, sadly, he was born with two left feet
Sometimes he'll wear a plunger for a hat
He says that's why he never will go bald
Last week he tried to make love to the cat
The cat, though, turned to me and caterwauled
My Uncle claims, "The voices come from God."
We humour him and ask "In Japanese?"
He answers, "Spare the child, spoil the rod."
But, sadly, Zen was not my expertise
When feeling spry he'll sometimes pinch the nurse
He does it for the punishment he gets:
Avoidance, though he hopes for something worse
Involving chains and whips and castanets
My Uncle sighs, "The world is going mad."
We humor him and say, "How right you are!"
And oftentimes (and this is really bad)
He'll look at me and chuckle, 'har-dee-har!'
| Contributors: | Will_H, F, Beefy, Kansas Sam, N. |
| Poem finished: | 30th August 2004 by Kansas Sam. |