Once I had a virtual Pet.

Red of face, with yellow head.
At night he slept beside my bed.

He learned to spell and read with ease,
That’s in English, not in Japanese.

I called him Tam and taught him heaps.
He drank a lot and babbled beeps.

One day, without a peep, he died.
I blamed myself and sat and cried.

Laid by scissors with my sewing gear.
He’d never called me" Mother Dear."

He needed batteries, size LR 444.
I found some in the Crazy Store.

I wanted him to come alive
Like Lazarus, could he survive?

The transplant was a Tamabotchi.
I could not resurrect my Tamagotchi.

When I grow up to a wheel Chair.

When I grow up to a wheel chair
I want it quick with mags and air.

A grunty motor, loud and bad.
Gold braid inside, like Elvis had.

The red plush seat will shoot up high,
To look bad children in the eye.

Shot from a cake and naked .
My ! From jet prop-elevation I’ll really fly.

I’ll have auto lock and power steer.
Scythes on the wheels like Bodicea

Bag snatchers will need stitches in the thigh.
Skateboarders will wet their pants and cry.

I’ll mow them down, back-caps and all
Grazing their knee bones as they fall.

If they give me chocolate with cream inside.
Half-good children may have a ride.

But who would steer? Who sit on who?
I’d hire a lawyer if I were you.