I enjoy the humor and hijinks of these--especially the knight and the outhouse, and the hijacking of "the darling buds of May." Afraid my contribution is not light verse at all, but was sparked by this funercise (sp?), so I'll try it out here.
Every Night They Have a Fight
My mother, your father, live across the street--
an eyesore, even in this budding slum--
fourteen thirteen Alligator Street.
Step-children step or jump to a different beat,
a herky-jerk of one-off syncopation.
My mother, your father live across the street
behind a picket fence like yellowed teeth,
askance in a wide jaw, ready to lunge--
fourteen thirteen alligator street,
a home of sorts, where kids conspire to meet
for hours without home cooking, chores, attention...
My mother, your father live across the street
but plod back from long shifts, dead on their feet,
"Don't get on my last nerve. I'm warning, son."
Friday thirteenth on Alligator Street
goes 24/7. But for a treat
there's smokes, liquor, drugs, a loaded gun.
My son, your daughter live across the street--
fourteen thirteen Alligator Street.
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