Vacation Disasters

We packed up the truck for a trip out west,
Ma said, “No hitchin’ rides–this one’s full guest.”
Pa forgot the map, Ma forgot the wine,
The baby threw up by mile forty-nine.
The dog got carsick, the goat got loose,
And we hit a toll road run by a moose.
Our motel promised “authentic farm flair,”
Turned out the beds were made of hay and despair.
We lost our luggage in Wichita Falls,
Found it later being worn by mall Santas in stalls.
The theme park had a wait time of four full days,
And the only ride open was “Sweat & Delays.”
We roasted marshmallows but burned the tent,
Then Ma got arrested for fightin’ a vent.
The museum was closed, the diner was fire,
So we ate gas station pickles and expired quiche attire.
The donkey tour guide got us tragically lost,
And the souvenir shirts said “Vacation: The Cost.”
Now every year we stay put on the farm,
Because travel, we learned, does more harm than charm.
If wanderlust hits, we ride in a loop,
Round the pasture and back–less chance of the poop.

Alan Nafzger (editor@bohiney.com)

Last Updated on May 27, 2025 by Alan Nafzger