There once was an ex-cop who did poorly
At being a father and what’s more he
Killed his ex-wife
But then offered up his life
To save his daughter from a life in pornography.
[Editor’s note: this is a distillation of my novel The Painted Beast into a short limerick form. It does not capture all the twists and turns of the novel, but if I had to describe at least one main feature of it in 50 words or less, this would probably do.]
But at night in that big ol’ house,
When everybody’s in bed, even a mouse,
The portmanteau will open,
As if magic words were spoken,
And out will waltz a little girl to Strauss.
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Now the portmanteau sits in a closet
Like a gift awaiting a deposit.
The once-Lady from Kent
Won’t even relent
To guess at what happened or posit.
So, there was a once-Lady from Kent
Who stole the suitcase and went
Under the cover of night
On a single-engine flight
With a portmanteau whose latch was bent.
The old man looked like Sleaze,
Wearing a brown coat against the breeze.
He shook his head slow
And wouldn’t let go
Of the suitcase he called “a valise.”
She searched the island high and low,
Finding it with an old man moving slow.
She said it was an heirloom,
That a thief tried to make room
In his life for something he didn’t know.
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There once was a Lady from Kent
Down to Haiti she went.
About her portmanteau
She did not know
What happened after the suitcase event.
Filed under hero, humor, limerick, poem, poetry, portmanteau, Random Access Thoughts, story, story poem, words, writing