mr. toady,
poor bloke,
he croaked!
“call a spade
a raccoon,” i said.
go bury bumpy
next to his lumpy
mortician’s binary
fission beautician
beneath the
sassafras bush.
but whatever
you do, don’t
sneeze at rich
dark chocolate
syrupped-steak
served up hot
by pink-vested
bobble bunnies
with sides of steamy
blue lobster rainbows
under kettle-korn
skies…or you may
shatter my shiny
silver-plattered
mad-hattered
dreams.
So, what do you think of my new garden ornament? Linked to d’Versepoets
a poem in my pocket 