The Book on Alex Rodriguez
He seeks out BioGenesis
To help him beat Ruth’s Numbers
And Barry’s tainted Mark (boo! hiss!),
While A-Rod’s Wisdom slumbers.
If Judges don’t reject the facts
Of Revelation‘s probe,
It’s Exodus for him, whose Acts
Refute his claim he’s Job.
She’ll literally nose around
With endless acres to peruse,
Exploring every inch of ground
Like Sherlock Holmes in search of clues.
Her contribution to the story?
She’ll do as dogs have done for years:
She stops and marks her territory,
Exchanging pee-mail with her peers.
Little Edgar, fraught with fright,
Suffered nightmares every night
But grew up and earned renown
After Edgar wrote ’em down.
Baby Moses, set afloat,
Got seasick in his basket boat.
Thereafter, seeing seas he’d balk
And say “No boat for me. I’ll walk.”
Little O. J., future great,
In the winter stayed out late;
Sneaking home heard mother chime:
“Where’s your hat and gloves this time?!”
Little Billy got his hooks
In one of Mr. Steinbeck’s books,
Then fashioned, for computer venues,
The best laid plans of mice and menus.
Bob McKenty has been misrepresenting himself as a “poet” for decades. He has recently come to the realization that he is actually an editorial cartoonist who can’t draw. His cartoons-for-the-left brain have appeared in myriad publications, including The New York Times, Reader’s Digest, Light, a dozen anthologies and a couple of textbooks. He won the Howard Nemerov Sonnet Award back in the 20th century.