Bar Dreck
our 5 year mission,
is to confuse as many
bar patrons as we can,
and leave them head scratching
to the very last man
my uncle Artie and I
would calmly sit at the bar,
and speak just loud enough
for others to see we were
most odd in our discussions,
maybe "mad" a better term
we had our very goal,
to drive them mentally infirm
gibberish talk, inane, insane
so sense of it could one could not make,
and the crazier it got,
the more intense we would fake...
like terms, "what's up with the
copper-status?" and where's
the "finiggin pin"?
off shore, he glibbly told me,
just where the heck you been?
we'd mumble on for quite awhile
careful not to crack a smile
It was real cool to watch those
around us,
who thought for sure we were,
escaped lunatics , where is
the asylum bus?
I loved to watch reactions,
very carefully be assured,
I still think of those great times,
somehow I have endured,
long after his sad passing,
but I gotta wonder if
at St Peter's gate he stirred up
a giant angel fit....
through babbling on in heaven
about his mythical finnigen pin
and if they ever opened up
and let that sweet fool in.
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