A Poem About Frustration and Parents

So, one of my friends on Facebook teaches Sunday school at her church. She knows my position, and she and I joke back and forth constantly. Today, she told me she had Parent-Teacher conferences coming up...so I wrote her a poem.

Before anyone reads this, I must remind all of you that I love kids. I just happen to open my brain sometimes and let the creative juice leak out onto the tarmack.

"Sunday School Showdown"

Teachers, parents, children too.
The conferences will now ensue.
The children will cry, their parents will lie,
When you say their kid eats way too much pie.

They'll tell you it's fine, and say not to whine,
while all of this time, their kid is porcine.
You cannot ignore through the rest of the course,
the one kid in class who's as big as a horse.

You talk to the mom of the bully in black,
who takes from the others or else they get smacked.
You tell her the kid needs to straighten his act,
Or next time he leaves his spine will be cracked.

They call the police for the things that you say,
for threatening kids, they will take you away.

You pull out your magnum and blow them away,
the cops won't be cuffing you...not on this day.
You whip out the other, and now you go dual,
'cuz they fucked with you, and now you get cruel.

You shoot out the windows and break all the glass,
so never again can they use this class.
You blast all the coppers who come through the door,
"You ain't gonna fuck around with me anymore!"

You steal all the bibles, and that's just as well...
you can donate them all to the nearest hotel.
You go to the tithe box and break off the lock,
It goes in your bag with the rest of the stock.

You eat all the snacks that you saved for the class,
and you don't really care if you get a big ass.
You'll be miles away when the SWAT team comes in,
You'll be running so fast that you'll stay nice and thin.

You run to Bermuda, a boat to Pengini,
and dish out some cash for a new Lamborghini.

You drive to the post office and make a dictation,
"I hereby offer my firm resignation".
You stick on a stamp, and send it away,
They already knew this, but it felt good to say.

Never again must you lie to the faces,
of bullies and brats to be put in their places.
You don't have to say that they do a good job,
of raising their kid who is really a snob.
In time they will see the fact that is errant.
There are no bad children, just rotten parents.