…and you look like one, too!

My nephew thought, perhaps, that being a minor would exclude him  from the all-scrutinizing gaze of  The Poemanator on his birthday…but alas, there’s no place to hide.  So, he just had to buck up and take it like a fifteen-year-old:

Fifteen years ago today
you sprang upon the world
and like a really ugly weed
your sticky leaves unfurled.

The nurses clutched their noses,
(the prudent thing to do)
and asked, “Are you sure this one’s your first–
it smells like number two?!!”
“Consider this a practice child–
next time you may recoup,
’cause if at first you don’t succeed,
just leave it on a stoop.”

“We can’t do that!”, your mother cried,
“Perhaps some later time…
we can’t desert this ugly duck
“cause littering’s a crime!”

“We should, at least, give it a name
descriptive of this sack.”
Just then you threw up, right on cue…
“It sounds like it said —-.”

The doc rushed in, with tests in hand
and said, “Hey, just for fun,
why don’t we stick it with a fork
to see if it’s quite done?!”

“I must admit,” the doc confessed,
“that much to our disgrace…
your child was dropped and now we’ll never
know which end’s the face!”
Your father said, dejectedly,
of gazing at your eyes,
“You know, he may turn out real sweet–
look how he’s drawing flies.”
“Alas, we must accept the slag
of our faulty chromosome,
but could we get a doggy-bag
in which to take him home?!”

–“family-friendly” is Parsel-tongue for “free mice to a good home”

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