THE INDUSTRY

Be good to senior citizens!

Were we all to up and croak,

Nothing could replace us,

You’d end up sad and broke!

All that pension money

No longer in the till,

Countless pill prescriptions

The druggists needn’t fill.

Hospitals half empty,

Retirement homes shut down,

Undertakers bankrupt,

Not a bingo game in town!

Unemployment soaring,

Even doctors on EI,

Golf courses growing over,

Cruise lines high and dry.

Caring for the old folks

Is a prodigious industry,

The heart of the economy,

Salubrious it must be!

So try not to forget

We make the world go ‘round.

Give us due respect

Or we’ll go underground!

SUPERNOVA

According to astronomers

Someday our sun will blow,

Become a supernova,

A celestial fireworks show.

The Earth will be enveloped

In a cloud of burning gases.

No one will have a chance

To save their sorry asses!

Think of all that’s lost

In this catastrophe:

Works of human genius,

Reduced to space debris.

Mozart’s compositions,

The paintings of Seurat,

The plays and verse of Shakespeare

Will have had their last hurrah.

Not more Elvis, no more Bing,

No Frank, no Sarah Vaughn,

No Bergman/Bogart movies,

Even Oprah will be gone!

Let’s hope there’s some dimension

Where this greatness goes.

Where it will last forever,

And there too our sorry souls!

LIFE IN A TEST TUBE

Some day some biophysicist,

Experimenting in his lab,

Will mix together elements

And unleash an outcome bad!

In his test tube will appear

A brand new living cell,

Multiplying like crazy,

Up to no good one can tell!

The cells change into insects

And flee into the night,

Intent on the location

Of human hide to bite.

Once bitten by these creatures,

We’ll at their mercy be.

The bugs will be in charge

And spray us with DDT!

ENABLING THE DISABLED

If you are disabled,

Don’t let it you despair.

There’s a world of gadgetry

To get you anywhere.

There’s the metal walker,

An ingenious device,

To prop you up, no matter what,

On deck, or floor or ice.

Then there is the shower bench.

No excuse to not be clean.

You can seated scrub and soak

Beneath the cleansing stream.

Have to use the john?

A commode is what you need.

It’s wheeled and height adjustable.

Just be sure your aim to heed!

Of all the woundeds’ friends

The sock-aid is the best.

It’s just a sheet of plastic,

But it works! I can attest.

These supremely simple items

Make a cripple’s life worthwhile.

Their anonymous inventors

Have earned Nobels by a mile!

KETCHUP

Ronald Reagan said it all,

And he was an honest man!

Ketchup is a vegetable,

Healthy, tasty and…

If you apply it thick enough

Any food it will enhance.

Lather it on broccoli.

It’ll make your taste buds dance!

It’ll add a dash of colour

To the blandest dish,

Say a bowl of porridge.

However, if you wish,

Even cordon-bleu

Will get a flavour boost

When Ketchup’s gently dripped

On tenderloin au jus.

This subtle gourmet touch

May not the chef endear,

But you’ll be a candidate

For Heinz Man of the Year!

THE BLACK CLOUD

Iceland is an island it’s hard to care about.

In the realm of world affairs, it lacks a lot of clout.

The population’s small; fishing is their game.

Far from anywhere, no foe that one can name.

They’re near the Arctic Circle; it ain’t no Waikiki!

There’re mountains and glaciers and all around the sea.

Icelanders are descendants of hearty Viking stock.

Used to raising hell, they said: ‘Time to awe and shock!’

‘Too long we’ve been ignored! We’ll get attention yet!’

They summoned Eyjafjallajokull to express their surly pet.

Happy to oblige, the volcano rudely spewed,

And suddenly the world was to the TV glued.

News of that eruption spread wide to say the least,

Iceland now on every tongue, for CNN a feast!

Today a shroud of ash, five-thousand metres high,

Blankets most of Europe. No airline dares to fly.

Travelers by the millions have had to alter plans.

Iceland’s profile soars in all once heedless lands.

But a problem lingers on. Who can say the spewer’s name?

Why don’t we simply call it Iceland’s Claim to Fame!

THE TAXMAN

The end of April nears.

The taxman’s stalking you.

Dig out those dusty files.

You have much work to do!

Records of your income,

Of tax already paid,

Of transactions with your broker,

Have you noted every trade?

About those whopping gains

You made on Whatzit shares,

Were they offset by losses?

Who won, the bulls or bears?

Are you likely to be audited?

Will your errors just sneak by?

Will you go to prison

Because you told a lie?

Try not to be so worried.

You’ve not been in arrears.

But maybe you’ve been lucky.

Tax fraud gets seven years!