Where, exactly, is Nantucket?

   The other day I was helping my son with his english homework. He had to compose a verse in that highest of all forms of poetry: the limerick. While he was working, I came up with a few of my own.

Young Matthew was considered quite bright.
His test answers were commonly right.
His parents' concern,
It might please you to learn,
Was that he reads without turning on the light.

The teacher's new class of grade six
Find themselves in quite a big fix.
Their homework, it seems,
Isn't up to his dreams.
If they're not careful, a field trip he'll nix.

Matt's parents, his mother and father,
Concerned with his bent to wool-gather,
Have lowered the boom;
Locked him in his room.
Said Matt, quoting Pooh, "Oh, bother!"

   Yes, I know gather doesn't rhyme with father, or bother. Just consider it poetic license, OK? Either that, or read it in a Boston accent. Also, forgive me for the Springsteenism.
   Here are a couple that are less topical.

There was an old man named Gerard,
Whose breakfast was bread fried in lard.
His wife to him said,
"I'm surprised you're not dead,
Because your arteries, I'm sure, are quite hard."

The young video gamer, he beams,
He's discovered the girl of his dreams.
Her gaming is sweet,
Her hacking skillz, 1337,
And her t-shirt, it bursts at the seams.

tags:Family, Poetry