Saturday, September 05, 2020

Christmas Eve Now


It's the Eve of Eves

What have you come with

The Charles Whitmans are already here

Emilia's scratching her jeans

I'm asking Heath' what she thinks it might mean,

She insists that I'm being the meanie,

That can't operate in this green work-building,

All of a sudden my phone keyboard's looking like teeth

Set to make Keith into the working-board Pretendo gelding.

Thanks to work-place allowance for Heath'

Swap out seminars, pig-tie your grief

Apprehension can't get no relief

Your child-cat arms seek a reef

Like Gainsbourg's girl in the deep....

Now Gramma has casserole fired

It's spilt-over the dishes of beets

Don't ask which uncles she's "sired"

It mixes the boys with the streets!

Hudson's Adventure missing island and soap

Gramma promised the ninnies it couldn't snag scrotes

But Soap-on-a-Rope has Mind-of-Its-Own

It's inclined to hail Mary, unmask its Jabrone'.

I call my dander "chin-chalk" —

Absolute respect to the Sheikh.

My iron witness protects me —

He's Jonas Salk, he's Allah, Khalik.

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