My versifying friend Gerald Bosacker has been writing a series of Poetic Headstones — safety hints in limerick form, which he refers to as “limerbituaries.” When he challenged me to write one, I just had to give it a try:
If your doc says, “Go under the knife.
Only surgery’s saving your life.”
Kindly check out his rep.
Mel did not, the poor schlepp.
So Mel is now missed by his wife.
From there, I moved on to something a bit more warped — not exactly a safety hint, but a “limerbituary,” nonetheless:
Just why is this poor fellow dead?
Well mainly he’s missing his head.
He dined with a bad man,
A head-chopping madman,
And that’s the last time he was fed.
Thanks for the inspiration, Gerald.
