Another installment in my ongoing efforts to lose more readers by re-telling old jokes as bad poems.

***

The Delicacy,

in the style of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18

In Mexico, an Aussie went to dine

And spied a meal upon another’s plate.

“Some o’ that would do me mighty fine.”

He told the waiter, “Bring it to me, mate.”

Alas, the waiter told him he could not:

Those were the tender privates of a toro —

“Just one a day gets put into our pot

It’s from the bullfight — order for tomorrow!”

He did, and next day ate it skin and all.

Then called the waiter over, just to say:

“ ’Twas fine, but why’s this portion kinda small

Compared to what you served just yesterday?”

The waiter nodded at the modest dinner:

“Some days, señor, el toro is the winner.”

***

The Lawyer’s Plea,
in the style of “The Village Blacksmith,”
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Under the spreading chestnut tree

The city lawyer rants,

His car a mashed-up wreck to see,

And blood upon his pants.

Up pulls a man in uniform

As the lawyer stamps and chants.

“My ride! My car! My Cadillac!”

The lawyer’s plaint doth ooze —

“My Prada suit’s ripped front to back,

My Bruno Magli shoes!”

All this the officer does note

Part sadly, part amused.

“You lawyers,” says the cop in scorn,

“Are scoundrels pure and utter.

It’s just for baubles that you mourn,

As you rage and rail and mutter,

Yet you don’t see your whole left arm

Is lying in the gutter!”

This shut the lawyer’s mouth at last

He stopped and looked about

The cop was right, he saw, aghast

Blood from a stump did spout.

So then he loosed a grieving wail —

“MY ROLEX” he screamed out.

***

The Burial,

in the style of “Whispers
of Immortality,”
by T.S. Eliot

Webster was much possessed by death

So Mrs. Webster had to bury him —

“In his brown suit,” she said at once

To the mortician, Mr. Merriam.

But came the hour of the day

The interment was to be

The widow saw he was in blue!

“It must be brown!” said she.

It was too late for such a change

But the mortician merely frown’d,

Took the casket, quick returned,

And the dead man was in brown!

Afterward, the widow asked

How so fast the change was worked.

“I had a corpse in brown out back,

So I just switched heads,” he smirked.

E-mail Gene at weingarten@washpost.com.