I call my aunt Aunt Tipodees. So solitary, she.
I call my brother Brother ‘Hood. Small-town, small-time is he.
I call my cat Cat Astrophe. She runs amok when wet.
I call my dog Dog Matic. Spot’s one narrow-minded pet!
I call my eyes Eyes Sosceles. Each boasts an equal droop.
I call my face Face Etious when it names me
Nincompoop.
I call my grandma Grandma Laise. The sad old hag ’s been sick.
I call my horse Horse Radish. That old nag still packs a kick.
I call my ID I De Clare. It's utile paying bills.
I call my jacket Jack et Jill. I sport it scaling hills.
I call my ketchup Ketch A Perch. "Delish" on fish and chips.
I call my legs Leg Humes. They'd pass for runner beans…with hips.
I call my mom Mom Entum. She outruns me. (Think of that!)
I call my nose No Se Um and pretend it’s not so fat.
I call my organ Organdy. It's draped with yards of yarn.
I call my pipa Pea Pod Tree, ‘cuz I don’t give a darn.
I call my quail Que Lo Que when I wish to know what's up.
I call my rabbit Rabid Dog: that hare's one scary pup.
I call my sister Cistern Tank: she’s got a potty mouth.
I call my toaster Toes Turn’d Black: it sends my slices south.
I call my undies Undecided. Nowt else comes to mind.
I call my vest Vestigial. It’s grown too small, I find.
I call my wart War-Torn. It's gross. It's foul. Some people stare.
I call my xyst Sestina. I compose my lyrics there.
I call my yoyo Yo Yo Ma: it plays upon a string.
I call my zebra C Brassiere. (I think that’s everything.)
PlaysWellWithLetters is a blogorrheal notebook of Nonsense in rhyming metres accompanying often-inconsequential sequencial graphics all issuing from the hands and/or minds of Sgt. N. ("Jim") Smithe-Magee, amateur author/illustrator whose several books are available online from Politics & Prose Bookstore under the nom de charade Ulysses Poe.
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Sunday, January 27, 2019
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