[My wife thought this was disrespectful, not my intention at all. I alleviated her reservations somewhat by showing her some quite nasty and funny parodies Robert Frost wrote of other poets.]

The Caddy’s Nemesis

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His irons, too, he’ll often throw
when missing shots, and hurt my ear
with curses loud and raining blows.

We caddies always think it queer
the awful language that we hear
and balls and clubs land in the lake
whenever he is drinking beer.

He gives his caddy’s neck a shake
as if to see if it will break.
The only other sound is, “Creep!
It’s you who causes my mistake”

The grass is lovely, sand traps deep
but we have greens that we must keep
and miles to mow before we sleep
and miles to mow before we sleep.

–Robert Frist
as told to Leslie Gerber

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