Road Kill Bill

It’s poetry time again! And in the (highly unlikely) case that my friend Bill finds this post, I must add that this is all fictional (as far as I know). In real life, Bill is an Apple fanboy who speaks fluent Chinese….. Here it is:

I have a friend called Bill,
Whose hobby is road kill.

He roams back streets by night,
In search of gruesome sights.

His favourite is dead toad,
With its innards compressed on the road.

For him it’s a total thrill,
To locate a quality kill.

“I would give away my father,
To see a flattened koala.”

He inhales the rancid decay
Of corpses left rotting for days.

His mother says it’s mad,
For a seemingly normal lad.

“Bill your behaviour is strange
I think you’re a little deranged.

“Nobody else has a son,
Who looks at dead things for fun.

“A hobby is what you need,
A sport or a good book to read.”

So she bought him DVDs,
And tickets to go overseas.

But her efforts were all in vain,
For her son was indeed insane.

He continued to search out the dead,
No matter what she said.

Then one day disaster struck,
In the form of a two tonne truck.

Bill had been out all night,
Roaming without a light.

He’d found a dead cockatoo,
Alongside a flat kangaroo.

“It’s been a successful eve,
Now is a good time to leave.”

But when he stepped out on the street,
He instantly became dead meat.

Just metres from his home,
A lorry crushed all his bones.

And that’s how my good friend Bill,
Ironically became road kill.


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