I wrote an awful poem;
it was bad in the extreme.
I showed it to my sister
and it made my sister scream.

I gave it to my mother
and she promptly flipped her lid.
My father blew a gasket,
and my baby brother hid.

I brought my poem with me
when I came to school today.
My teacher nearly fainted
and my friends all ran away.

I never knew a poem could be
such amazing fun,
but that was such a blast,
I think I'll write another one.

--Kenn Nesbitt