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the dog Charley ate my poem
that's what my excuse is
the wind flew it down my street
the same place that my muse is

my boss said "get back to work NOW!"
"the deadline is here for your idea",
I'd like to get it, but don't know how
now I'm lookin' for some panacea

I was standin' with my stanza
and I dropped it down the john
my face flushed, so did the rhyme
tried to get it back, but - it's gone

the organ grinder with his monkey
came walking down our quiet street
turned tranquility into a noted din
made my mind run in full retreat

then I walked down that same road
on my way to this very recital
a big guy came up said "hand it over"
now I'm empty-handed despite all

of these excuses that I need to explain
I've wracked my brain, tipped toward insane
I'll never have a creative thought again!
can someone actually have a mental sprain?

my best friend, at least I thought so
"be a pal, just lemme borrow it" he says,
told me he'd only need it for a day or two
that's the honest truth of what my excuse is

© Goode Guy 2012-04-22

Copyright © | Year Posted 2012

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