As We Metamorphose

As we metamorphose away from mumbo-jumbo, we cleave to poetry, abandon prose. Science is the only one that knows. I saw it on “Colombo”. A laptop’s far more useful than a rose. Remember Walden Pond, and when it froze? Or when Aunt Bernadette prepared that gumbo? You won’t forget the north wind when it blows! America’s best movie? If it chose, the Number One would probably be ‘Dumbo’. And ‘Tik Tak Toe’ would be the Show of Shows. We all have sadness, live through woes, but strong folk are not looking for macumba. Rain falls – that’s all we need suppose. Just check your seams are straight: adjust your hose, and get out there and trip a raunchy rumba. You know the tune real well. It’s one of those. You think that milk and honey are what flows? I’d like to see you tell Patrice Lumumba! It’s been that way for many other Joes. Art long, life short? The poem has to close. But maybe, from the shadow of the tumba, some vestige will remain for you to gloze.