Missa Pro Defunctis (Requiem) in Limerick

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REQUIEM for AUNTIE LYN
(Pro Forma)

There is this old shrew from Pinole

Whose life is a greedy black hole;

Though Red is her lover

And Green is her cover,*

Yet nothing accrues to her soul.

The ants and the roaches all tremble

When their big boss (they closely resemble)

Turns the key to their coach,

Streets of Tracy to poach,

While the icemaker stays back to rumble.

Her orders in high cackley voice

Are meant to leave one without choice

As they pierce the still air

With a malignant flair.

Her incipient demise? We rejoice!

Lest the reader should think that I'm crass -
(With the goal to kick her in the ass) -
'Tis her PAIN! Hard to suffer,
Let God quickly snuff her
Then we all'd be in good smokin' grass.

She leaves behind yards full of junk

And dress styles that really are punk.

The dogs, they will yap

As though still in her lap -

Please stuff them in with her in the trunk.

The radio, too, snuggle next to her head

And turn it up LOUD (‘cause she’s dead)

On Mega one-hunnerd

That acoustical canard

May the noise go with her to the shed.

After popping the cork and the bung,

All the crimes of this bitch will be sung,

‘Bout her leathery face

And complete lack of grace,

All back-stopped by her facile tongue.

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* two lines paraphrased from lyrics to Take It Easy, sung by the Eagles and reparaphrased below.

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Lookin' for a [c]over who [wants to] blow my [l]over;

She's so...oo hard to find.

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