a poem in my pocket

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