Grandpa Ate the Leftovers -- a Poem of Elder Abuse

Grandpa ate the leftovers, now isn’t that a shame.
We took him in because he was so old and very lame.
But Grandpa ate the leftovers, so what are we to do?
Condoning such behavior will not bring back any stew.

Grandpa ate the leftovers, we thought he was aware
That he cannot look in the fridge and let out the cold air.
We’re glad to have him staying, but he must learn to respect
Our feelings when he goes and eats a piece of bread unchecked.

Grandpa ate the leftovers, and consequences follow
Ev’ry single morsel that he did so rudely swallow.
We’ll take away his walker, make him sit in a “time-out.”
Take away his prune juice, give him bacon for his gout.

Grandpa ate the leftovers -- that wasn’t very nice;
Not when you consider that we let him have free ice.
His bed is comfy cozy and his sheets are washed with care
Once a year, the same time as we do his underwear.

Grandpa ate the leftovers, when he was left alone,
Sitting with the land line listening in to the dial tone.
He’s home alone most all the time; we have to work, you know.
And on the weekends we so like to catch a Broadway show.

Grandpa ate the leftovers; if Grandma were alive
He would not so smugly live at our expense and thrive.
But she is dead and buried – leastways that is what they said
When the home threw out her bags and reassigned her bed.  

Grandpa ate the leftovers, and showing no remorse.
We would have a nose bleed if we were up on his high horse.
We don’t charge him anything, not even a deposit,
For his lovely sitting room inside the linen closet.

Grandpa ate the leftovers, our food budget is shot.
Next he’ll want a trip to someplace warm like Montserrat.
His room and board are killing us, we’re at his call and beck!
(But please do not explain to him we cash his pension check.)