Little Jack Horner's Undercover Identity Blown Poem by Chuck Audette

Little Jack Horner's Undercover Identity Blown

Rating: 5.0


little Jack Horner lay at the coroners
in pieces, a puzzle to try
and they put back his thumbs, and sewed on his bum
and said, 'Damn, there goes our mafia spy'

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Ruth Walters 03 October 2012

err, so now he's got thumbs on his bottom, I think that this trick is so rotten what if he feels hungry and wants a plum pie I've a worry he'll be forgotten

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Chuck Audette

Chuck Audette

Poetry Hell, Vermont
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