A trip, limerick’d

Grand Marais with Grand Mo & Ma

By Geoffrey Dean

When Mo saw the light he declared
As he deeply pondered and stared,
    “Well, I’ll be,
    It’s made in Paris!”
But from brightness his sight was impaired.

Past Betty’s we drove up the shore.
It should have been one hour more.
    But Ma had me map
    As I tried to nap,
And the pace settled into a snore.

The temper’ture steadily dropped
Ev’ry time that we got out and stopped.
    Like statues we froze
    But what do you s’pose —
Hot Christa most happily hopped.

The Grand Marais shoreline had rocks
That quickly got into our socks.
    Upon skipping a stone
    Mo ended up prone,
So we filled up on donuts and lox.

At Beth’s for some chocolate fudge,
Our child fast developed a grudge
    ’Gainst leaving that store
    Less seven toys more.
’Til purchased she just wouldn’t budge.

North Shore Visitor

On Sunday we entered a church
Our souls to sustain with a search
    Through Betsy’s fine prints
    In natural tints
As He looked askance from his perch.

That last bite of bum’berry pie
Had me wondering woefully why
    My stomach hurt so.
    I had quick to go
relieve it, or fart on the sly.

Copyright © 2019 by Geoffrey Dean