Before the days of yester,
there dwelt due west of Leicester,
beyond its housing cluster,
a crone – an empty nester --
the locals label’d Hester.
This dame (no Lady Astor)
had wed the village barr’ster --
a mouthpiece name of Buster
(young Buster’d but to ask her)
and bore him sons call’d Fester,
MacAllister and Lester.
Young Fester, “Cal” and Lester,
moreover, had a sister
whom Hester christen’d Brewster
(a name-the-child disaster
no neighbor rose to foster).
Still, thus she introduced her
at matins ev’ry Easter.
But Buster proved a shyster.
That legal beagle diss’d her
and split for pastures vaster,
lands just southwest of Ulster
Thus, mistress lost her mister.
Yea, Buster play’d the jester.
Once marriage’d lost its luster,
this blister roundly cursed her,
and, donning toque and duster…
* *
* * *
…he drove a roller coaster
misnamed “The Upper Cruster.”
One day he grabb’d a sister.
(Of nuns he was a quester.)
He’d cased her. Then he’d cuss’d her,
though of cursing he’d accus’d her.
Into a car he cast her
(though not before he’d kiss’d her).
She fear'd he might molest her
so swiped from him the keys ter
the rusty Upper Cruster…
* * * * *
…then kick’d him in the keister.
(A work in progress on several fronts)
