There once was a poor lady, la vieja pobre.

Her spring allergies lasted into octobre.

No matter what happened, she was always in shambles.

“I said over-easy pero instead I got scrambled.”  

Now age eighty-nine and horribly sick.

Bedridden with bed sores just waiting to kick.

From the time she was born, poor thing had it rough.

Murphy’s Law incarnate meets Senora Bad Luck.

Her parents weren’t speaking at the time of her birth.

Couldn’t agree on a name so they settled on Gerth.

Half-Gertrude, half-Beth, and “Gerthy” for short.

The name fit her figure, the nose fit her snort. 

To add insult to injury, she was insulted all fierce.

Tonta del culo, pendeja, cabrona, jodona… and worse.

Bald ‘til age nine, her wigs never stayed on.

Black uni-brow, fake pigtails bleach blonde.

Picked last for dodge ball and hit very first.

They’d switch out the balls, just in case it got cursed.

And now on her deathbed, full of shingles and welts.

She had time to reminisce about the hand she was dealt.

“A boy never kissed me, only once saw a porno.”

“Burger Fuentes asked me out, pero he was a gordo.”

“I wonder what woulda happened, I shoulda said yes”

“I coulda cleaned up, I woulda worn my blue dress.”

“Never drank, never inhaled, because God forbid me,”

“Things got even worse when my service dog bit me.”

“My chile never turned out, I burnt every tortilla.”

“Five nephews, two nieces, and not one calls me tía.”

“No one ever gave me lessons, I had to swim in the bath,”

She said as she reached for her half-empty glass.

 “Take this pill for la pain,” said Kim’s oldest daughter.  

““I would,” the poor thing said, “pero I hate to taste water.”

So she prepared for the worst and gritted her teeth.

Nothing to live for, nada left to bequeath.

Poor, poor, pobrecita, oh how she’d cry.

Killing time slowly while waiting to die.