Barbarian eggplant vampire chutney

Some people say that limericks are the lazy person’s DIY solution to poetry. They might be correct, as I tend to be quite lazy and I wrote three just now. However, I like limericks, as the form and rhythm are beautiful, and I hope that a surprising topic choice ensures that they are something more than a bunch of clichés. Don’t pay any attention to the fact that the form is all over the place. Or to the fact that the rhymes are ham-fisted. Otherwise they’re pretty ok. Maybe.

 

I bought a car made of chutney.

The seats covers and seats, they were muttoney.

It drove fine in the cold,

But in May the blue mold,

Made it smell like an unwashed, old butt… -ney.

 

The comfy coffin of a vampire child,

Disowns all things brutal and wild.

He’s had flat screens installed

And you know he skype-called

His old-fashioned dad, now exiled.

 

A tomato, the one you eat with cheese,

Is “barbarian eggplant” in literal Chinese.

No wonder it’s red,

As it strikes its foes dead,

And steals their provisions with ease.

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