IN THE FOOTLOCKER by Dennis Doph

touchdown jesus. 17

Let us address, in all seriousness
The saga of Clarence Eugene Butterfield
In our merry time of trauma and stress
There's no hoarier story tabloids could ever yield.

Seems big bluff Gene was kinda mean
To his teenage daughter Rebekah
Neighbors could see, 'round their beat-up SUV,
Becky had been beaten like a woman stoned at Mecca.

After Gene had mauled his daughter
Say, six or seven years
He tired of Rebekah and her whining and her tears
Finding her moaning tiresome and of heinous faults replete
He shot poor dumb Rebekah in her hands, legs,
and her two flat feet
Tied her wrists and ankles together, and, as the final shocker,
Shoved whining dumb Rebekah in his trusty tin footlocker!

Two years later,

Arrested by dumbfounded cops in Disneyfied Santa Ana,
They found several pending cases on Gene
in Nevada's dry savannah
So they threw him in the Slammah
Then the cops went off their rocker
When they found poor dead Rebekah
in that rusty tin footlocker.

Rebekah had spent one full looooooooooong week
Drawing each precious breath
Finally suffocated while slowly bleeding to death.
So here is a father-daughter saga
To drive all dads and daughters gaga
At the bottom of all this sadomasochistic show-and-tell
Clarence Eugene Butterfield must have been
a fiend from hell!

But there's more to this than meets the eye
Speaking as one who has been there
Where there's a bully and a victim
It takes two to make a pair.