Poor Poor Martha

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout - Shel Silverstein


Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would Not Take The Garbage Out
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would not take the garbage out!
She'd scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloopy glumps of cold oatmeal,
Pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned buttered toast,
Gristly bits of beefy roasts...
The garbage rolled on down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall...
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
Peanut butter, caked and dry,
Curdled milk and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
Cold french fries and rancid meat,
yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That finally it touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her friends would come to play.
And finally Sarah Cynthia Stout said,
"OK, I'll take the garbage out!"
But then, of course, it was too late...
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate,
That I cannot right now relate
Because the hour is much too late.
But children, remember Sarah Stout
And always take the garbage out!


and now… it’s time for a little fun poking


A resourceful woman, Martha, there’s no doubt
Forgot to throw the evidence out
She’d decorate every room of her home
She would travel from here to Nome
And though the government came snooping about
She simply forgot to throw the evidence out
And so the prosecutor had such piles
A paper trail leading off for miles
Of stock certificate shreddings
Accountant be-headings
Of recipes for making a new friend
With finances that have no end
A stack of paper up to the ceilings
Of quiet and shady dealings
Receipts for dinner costing way too much
Not once was the bill paid “dutch”
The DA’s thumb on Merryl Lynch
Hoping to catch Martha inside that pinch
Taped interviews brought into court
With recipes for a chocolate torte
Judges saw everything wrong with the list
While Martha could only sit and get pissed
Geraldo clamored for a word to quote
With the rest of the media trying to dote
Pictures were gathered throughout the year
Striving for one of her in issued orange gear
She had no tuna cans to try and add flair
To her holding cell, it was just so gray there
She had no knitting needles, nor any string
These days were certainly not a Good Thing
She had no music, no fresh colored paint
She had no throw pillow to make things quaint
She was given no telephone to make her calls
Her accountant fled, for he had no b*lls
Poor, poor, Martha, left all alone
Devising a plan to get herself cloned
Poor Martha awaiting trial from her cell
Trying to get out of here, and stay out of h*ll
The camera’s flash as Martha is led
To the trial, a veil of doilies on her head
Pleading the fifth when it came time to say
“I didn’t know that was illegal in this day”
The Judge was none other that Britney Spears
And she listened to all Martha’s fears
“I understand the pressure you’ve had to deal
I shall release you only if you feel
That you can manage to behave
And I ask somehow that you can save
A piece of that wonderful torte
A reminder of your day in court”
Martha smiled at the end of her bout

Just remember children to throw the evidence out