Dad’s Rhymes

My dad, Frank Roper, was a caterer and a versifier of sorts.

Here’s my dad’s rhyme to my sister Debbie on the topic of defensive driving:

Here lies Debbie, who died one day,
While trying to maintain the right-of-way.
She was right, dead right, as she drove along,
But she’s just as dead as if she’d been wrong.

Just so you don’t think he’s some sort of genius, I’ll tell you another. He was a caterer, so he was very strict about cleanliness in a kitchen. If we would ever fail to meet his standard he would recite the following:

“What will you have”?
The waitress said, as she stood there picking her nose.
“Two hard boiled eggs, you miserable witch,
you can’t get your fingers in those.”

Dad always tried to make us laugh while giving us the gears.


Filed under: Humor, Prose