TWENTY FIVE

Don’t screw with me
Flattery,
Or you’ll
Be in the
Coal house with the TV;
You see
I got her here with me.

Don’t mess around
Unwanted noun,
Or you’ll
Be in the
Earphones with the sound
Surround,
I got her here in town.

Don’t stay up there
Fallen hair,
Or you’ll
Be in the
Fingers of the fair,
Take care,
I got her who don’t care.

You see,
She already packed off philosophy
With a spade on the head
And a hole by the tree, beneath the shrubbery.

So don’t fool with the why,
Mystified,
Or you’ll be
More incoherent
Than denied,
Don’t cry,
I got her who ain’t shy.

Don’t stay on the table
Tangled up cable,
Or you’ll
Be in the
Barnyard stable
Attached to a lable,
I got her who’s quite able.

Don’t pull at the curtain
If you are uncertain,
Or the battery
Of philanthropy
Will empty itself
And return to the shelf,
And be laughing a while,
And be throwing a smile,
Aiming to undermine
The inclined
Like yourself.

You see
She already packed off eternity
With a spade on the head
And a hole by the tree, beneath the shrubbery.

Please douse your flame
You spellbound dame,
Or you’ll
Be in the
Mincer with the maimed,
Be sane,
I got her who ain’t tame.

Don’t burn your books
My apprentice cook,
Or you’ll
Be on the
Next outward bound hook
That was chucked
By her who don’t look.

And so please tell us how
Unwanted cow,
Or we’ll
Be in the
Country’s last bow,
And I got her here,
And she’s spitting now.

You see,
She already packed off modernity and maternity
And uncertainty and everything else of me,
With a spade on the head,
And a hole by the tree, beneath the shrubbery.