“Miss-demeanor”

I walked down to the village gree-en,
leaned on a pole and started peein’.
A cop came up in mid-release
and said, “Sir, hold your hands out, please.”
I turned real fast and dropped my dew
and sprinkled tinkle on his shoe.
These city folks got funny ways —
the damn judge gave me thirty days.

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“Oh Where, Oh Where…?”

Sometimes at night I’d turn and toss
lamenting my considerable loss.
It’s  strange how we apply great measure
to small things we consider treasure.
They’re off the scope like phantom blips:
What'd they do with my wooden Q-tips?

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“A Terse Verse As Things Get Worse”

You itch and twitch, and then you bitch.
You squirt and spurt, it makes you hurt.
You moan and groan and wince in pain,
from maladies you can’t explain.
But, good from this I did contrive,
the suffering shows I’m still alive.

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“Attack on Two Fronts”

At breakfast I had a slight start.
My heart seemed to hiccup and fart.
While sitting at rest,
I had tightness of chest.
Soon the doctors were grading my chart.

It’s been years since that cardio thrill,
the doc’s told me that I ought to chill.
I yelled out, hell no,
I’ll stay on the go,
and keep charging my way up the hill.

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“Ink, I Think”

Such darkness doth the nighttime bring!
Why, I can hardly see a thing.
It’s as if my eyes were closed,
my pupils being juxtaposed.
I look inside — imagine that!
I’m as blind as any bat.
And you can tell, if you thus far read,
There’s a warp’o brain inside that head.

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