The Whining

 
Years ago I got an offer to be the caretaker  
Of the beautiful Overshook Hotel during the winter  
So that October I packed up my wife and children  
My laptop, some paper and my trusty old printer  
 
On the drive up I kept thinking about my poetry  
I could write and record my voice on cassette  
But the kids started with the whining all the way up  
Constantly asking “dad, dad, are we there yet?”  
 
We had the entire hotel to ourselves  
I could finally have some peace and quiet  
I’d have a great time spittin’ rhymes  
Eating good food and forgetting my diet  
 
But only after a few days the snow fell hard  
Knocking out all power, gas and internet  
My kids started complaining and whining  
Asking, “is the winter snow done yet?”  
 
I couldn’t use my laptop or my printer  
There was no electricity in the hotel  
All the while my family whined and complained  
I thought for a second this was a frozen hell  
 
Then I found an old typewriter in the basement  
Thinking I could write and I’d finally feel at peace  
But then my wife started hearing noises at night  
And had me check so I could put her mind at ease  
 
But it turned out the hotel was full of restless ghosts  
They were frustrated writers from a long, long time ago  
They all had run amuck during their winter storms  
And slaughtered their families out in the cold snow  
 
“Join us” the ghoulish dead playwrights whispered to me  
“End their whining and start mining some good rhymes”  
But when I started typing my kids heard and began griping  
“We’re bored” they kept interrupting me every single time  
 
Then my wife, by candlelight got the most irked of them all  
 “Honey, if you don’t fix the damn electricity we’ll go nuts!”  
And sure enough within hours they had armed themselves  
With bats and knives, axes and swords ready to spill my guts  
 
They chased me through the dark halls wanting to cut off my balls  
And then the ghosts joined them even if my family didn’t know it  
That’s when my wife found the typewriter and the pages I’d written…  
“No rhymes at the end of each line make Wally a dull poet”  
 
“THIS IDIOT HAS BEEN WASTING HIS TIME WRITING THE SAME LINE”  
Ooh I heard her scream I know from them on I was screwed  
I went outside in the cold watching the shadows in the windows  
Running for my life from this mad diabolical family feud  
 
But as they cornered me with murderous intent in their eyes  
The hotel started catching fire due to all the candles and a gas leak  
“Yay we get to go home” my kids cried out as my wife too was relieved  
And the homeless ghosts, they came home with us to stay for a week  
 
The End  
 
 
Next Week: Farter Starter