Very Bad Poetry

Sal the whacker
Whacks all the time.
Sal doesn't care,
They're all just slime.

When the whacker gets the call
From the boss, he goes - that's all.

Sal the whacker
Likes boiled eggs.
They look like eyes
Or hacked-off legs.

When the Sal the whacker comes home,
He wipes down his pistola chrome.

Sal lives with mom.
He's her best son.
She fixes lunch
And loads his gun.

One day Sal came home to see
Someone whacked out poor mommy.

So lock and load,
And Sal went out,
Took out the crew
To leave no doubt.

But here's the thing, very sad:
Sal's mom was whacked out by his dad.

Then dad caught up
With Sal one night
And told him, "Run! -
Out of my sight!"

Sal stood his ground
And cocked his gun:
"You killed my ma,
Now you'll be done!"

Dad told him now
What ma had done:
Whacked his cumare,
All just for fun.

Sal understood
Because both had
The same cumare -
Humping son and dad!

Sal gave a hug
To his long-lost dad.
And then whacked him out
And stomped his 'nads.

Sal then went back to the club
For a tearful apology to the dead crew,
But one soldier still alive
Laid out Sal with a .22.

That's the ballad of our poor Sal,
Caught in a web of grief.
If we learn one thing from this poor man,
It's this - make sure when you whack an entire crew, you make sure they are all dead.

David LaPierre has published 2 more terrible poems since joining on 30/11/99. Read more of David's terrible poetry at the anthology. Here are three of David's latest works: