Little Jack Horner's Undercover Identity Blown Poem by Chuck Audette
Little Jack Horner's Undercover Identity Blown
Rating: ★5.0
little Jack Horner lay at the coroners
in pieces, a puzzle to try
and they put back his thumbs, and sewed on his bum
and said, 'Damn, there goes our mafia spy'
Friday, October 31, 2008
Topic(s) of this poem: identity
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8/24/2026 5:12:46 PM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
err, so now he's got thumbs on his bottom, I think that this trick is so rotten what if he feels hungry and wants a plum pie I've a worry he'll be forgotten