I got some mail today: an envelope from my grandmother. I had, apparently, mailed her a stack of short stories and poems when I was twelve. She’d kept them all that time, now returning them.
In a word, they’re terribad.
But, because the Internet is where we’re supposed to do stupid things so that they will live on forever, I present to you some poetry from the mind of a 12-year-old Rick. Clickety-click for the full size version, as I will not transcribe it.
