Bad Poem

So this poem is really pretty bad, I wrote it in like.... 30 seconds and I'm going to edit it as I type it on here so yeah.... it's kind of prose, by the way.

GRANT

When I went away to college, my parents sold my childhood home.
Nobody would buy it, so in an act of desperation they traded it for a mobile home and some amount of money.
The mobile home belonged to my eighth grade English teacher, Glenn Kenney.
He had four children, three boys and a girl,
I went to school with two of the boys.

In visiting my parents, I stay in what I presume to be one of the boys' former rooms.
I looked up at the ceiling today and carved into the cottage cheese was a name.
GRANT
There was a Grant in my high school,
he was an asshole to me and cemented in me my eternal hate for him and the name Grant.
He often spent time with the boys who lived here prior and therefore,
I can only assume it was his meaty, sweaty, sooty, fingers which scrawled his name into my parents' relatively new home.

Seeing this made me feel like he had some sort of personal malediction against my family and me.
How dare you desecrate our home with your filthy, poorly written name you unsophisticated scum?!
Obviously, he didn't do it out of any form of spite for me or my family due to the fact that this happened before my parents moved in,
but I like to think he did.

What brings someone to perform such an act in the first place?
You always gave my friends and me shit, Grant.
All you did was smoke weed and fuck with us after school,
and now I have to look at your ill-favored name on my ceiling.
GRANT