I longed to see
the cupcake of your smile.
I thought you were
my mommy for awhile.
You pushed me on a swing
until my head was lost.
Of course I’d follow you
at almost any cost.
I’d trail behind
your skirt tails like a pet.
I’d kiss you ’til the world
was soaking wet.
And then, at night,
when you turned off the light,
I’d cry and cry
’til you were back in sight.
My gambling addiction
is passed off as fiction,
but it does cause friction
with the wife.
I bet on the horses
at many race courses
and I am remorseless;
it’s my life.
I’ve borrowed some money
and, no, that’s not funny.
I can’t tell my honey;
she’d be mad.
Now some of my lenders
are denting my fenders.
They could be game enders.
This is bad.
I’m betting a pot
on one last long shot,
the last chance I’ve got
in this life.
So, if I’m found dead,
two shots to the head,
I’ve made my own bed.
Goodbye wife.
Six weeks ago I bought a gross of ghosts.
I thought they’d make tremendous party hosts.
I didn’t realize they’re unionized.
Before the sale I should have been apprised.
They’ll only show up for approved occurrence.
And now they have demanded health insurance.
Not only do they expect room and board,
they want clean sheets and linens, oh my lord.
And if one feels his pay is in arrears,
he, without warning, up and disappears.
I feel that in this deal I just got burned.
And it seems that ghosts can’t be returned.