Oh my Dear Ms. Farabee,
How I know that you can see,
my homework is not here with me,
but I did do my task.
I recall the answers through,
like exercise eight was forty-two,
and they’d be here to prove me true
If all you’d do is ask.
But as to have the paper, dear,
Something happened, something queer,
On my way to coming here
That defies all excuses
A man inside a big pink car
Drove up to me from long afar
And ask if I’d like to be a star
of his sex abuses.
I screamed and hit him with my pack
As he drove in his Cadillac
License plate read “IN D SAK”
I then called the police
Apparently this man was bad
The officer called my mom and dad
Who came and cried and made me sad
But drove me here in peace
They took my backpack to the lab
So from its surface they might grab
Some fragments of his skin to nab
As the evidence piles grow.
And so, my Dear Ms. Farabee
If you still want homework from me,
You’ll have to talk to Officer Gree
Sincerely,
Bobby Joe
© 2001 David I. Brager