I was looking through a pile of old poems the other day and I found this gem. It is written in a similar vein of The Ballad of the Fried Squirrel and The Legend Live On, which I previously posted.
These are the rare funny poems. Most of my high school poems are about suicide. It is amazing I am still here. I could have really used some hard-core therapy my senior year of high school. Instead, I read Sylvia Plath and wrote lots of dark poems.
Enjoy this ditty!
Note: Bobby Jo Jinkins is a guy. I don’t know why I spelled the name like that.
Bobby Jo Jinkins
On a chilly autumn day,
I sat and watched the squirrels at play.
The sun shone down, bright upon the leaves
That were freshly fallen from their trees.
When all a sudden, their chatter ceased
And they ran away like pigs that were greased.
So I crept up to the leaves, to see what they’d found.
To my surprise, what was buried in that mound
Was a three-week dead, worm-eaten corpse–
It was Bobby Jo Jinkins, of course!
The story had been in the papers for days
Bobby Jo Jinkins wandered into the corn
and got lost among the maize.
But more than corn mites had found Bobby Jo.
It looked as though his head was bashed in by a hoe.
Poor Bobby Jo, what a terrible fate for a Jinkins,
His life had been rubbed out in a blink of a blinkins.
Oh, oh. If the town could see me now
They wouldn’t believe this sight–oh wow.
No one I knew, ever believed
I could ever get Bobby Jo Jinkins alone with me
under the trees.
(Aint life wacky?)