The Other Shoe Will Drop


What he wanted was a Michelin meal 

What he got was the blue plate special 

An abstract concept in the art of the deal

While his flunkies performed a courte-echel

He looked so dejected, so utterly confused 

While the cool kids partied round the corner 

A droopy poopy loner, so battered and bruised

the setting was suited for a funereal mourner.

I wonder what his Mrs. said as he looked away 

"You owe me meester plenty for dis fine deesplay."

 M.I.A. his spawn and that funny looking one

Brittany? Muffy? Taffy? and the silent son.

Who dares knock at his chamber door 

To appease the angry beast?

Firing away with his tiny thumb so sore

All gatherings and parties will be forever ceased.

No signs of fat faux kings or a circus clown

no tacos, Cheetos, leopard

Or when Dumpty Trumpty falls down.

Secure, he feels safe from his own petard

blasting swathes of bridges burning 

He leaves upheaval in his wake 

While the planet keeps on turning 

We pray his soul to take.















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