A poem, a pun and a joke sat down to devour the human race.
Immediately, they began to eat, not pausing to say Grace.
The poem ate quite delicately, not wanting to make a mess.
“These humans can be quite delicious, I really must confess.
Their emotions are very spicy,“ she said, eating the heart with zest.
“A taste of brotherhood and love delight the palate best.”
She ate so very slowly, reflecting on every bite,
She drank the blood of beauty. It made her head feel light.
The pun, upon the other hand, sliced into the brain.
Deftly and swiftly he cut, not causing any pain.
He entered the cerebellum as swift as a laser beam,
And then was gone so quickly that to the brain, ‘twas but a dream.
Discovering its invasion, gray matter laughed, white matter cried,
“My God, I’ve been defiled and logic has been defied.”
The joke, always an outsider, did not want to know the victim’s name.
It ate only stereotypical beings; it treated everyone the same.
The way in which the joke ate, was very crude, indeed.
Manners and good taste are not inherent in its breed.
The joke was not particular, it would chew on any part,
But it could not reach the brain; it could not touch the heart.
The poem, the pun and the joke blew smoke after eating the human race.
They burped and belched and buried the bones beneath the earthen face.