George McCor

George McCor

George McCor died yesterday,
poisoned from some lead.
‘Twas wise that I sent him away;
we’re all so glad he’s dead.

Most people think to kill someone
is horrible and cruel.
But frankly, I had lots of fun
when poisoning his gruel.

Now you might say that’s not the sort
of thoughts I should have for
that poor old fool, that grouchy wart
that we called George McCor.

If you told me I shouldn’t think
like that about that man,
you really need to see a shrink
as quickly as you can.

He wasn’t just a “mean old fool,”
though some would dub him so.
In my view, he was so, so cruel
his soul died long ago.

Killing him was justified.
He liked to sneer and scorn.
In fact, I’d rather he’d have died
the moment he was born.

His life was really end-able
for one so tough and strong.
My actions were commendable
though some may think I’m wrong.

I’ll tell you why I did him in,
then finally, you’ll see:
his every action was a sin;
I’m sure you will agree.

McCor was pitiless and cold.
Contempt he did express
for girls and boys, the young and old
he couldn’t care for less.

Although he used to love his spouse
when they were newly-wed,
Once those two moved into their house
Love turned to hate instead.

McCor would hit his wife and child
when he was in a rage.
His temper was quite quick and wild.
He got worse in old age.

His coworkers, he’d never greet,
or to them, ever speak.
He also never gave his seat
to elderly and weak.

The children ‘round the neighborhood
despised him. Every one
would call him names that weren’t good,
even his own son.

He’d never give away his sweets
to kids on Halloween.
And even though he had the treats,
he’d keep them and be mean.

In general, he wasn’t kind
and never seemed to care
that others, people did remind,
“Of him, you should beware.”

I knew that he was full of hate
and bitterness and greed.
I do suppose that it was fate
that let my plan succeed.

I took some great pains to beguile
and trick him to his doom.
He died inside his domicile
outside the dining room.

No one liked him much at all.
Some people thought him mad.
So when, at last, Death came to call,
the rest of us were glad.

When the police found George was dead,
nobody was concerned.
“It was karma,” people said,
“and he got what he earned.”

I do agree with what they say
and I am glad to learn
that George McCor has gone away
and will not soon return.

You might ask me, “What kind of man
ended George’s life?”
I’d tell you, “I am not a man.
I am – or was – his wife.”

--This was by my sister, and if I don't post anymore, it's because she killed me.

Her name is Emma, and what are you writing?