Meanwhile, Back At the Chicken Coop

I read the news today, oh boy Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, The fox in is charge of the hen house Gates are secure but the creature is inside Feathers fly in helter skelter patterns “You’ve got to crack a few eggs” is heard as those who see the commotion, scramble A dozen or so duck the falling shells, raining down from straw filled verses, bland but obviously first in the pecking order, hoping it all would be over…easy While over on Broadway a church mouse sings off key to a blindfolded audience waiting to applaud until the curtain goes down, so not to be seen greeting late arrivals with luggage and tickets hoping the next show is not sold out for this standing room only presentation Fortunately three, maybe four seats still remain unoccupied as stale nachos and sticky floors beckon The lights go down and the band strikes up a rousing intro to what should be a good show, at least that’s what the old reviews said, “It was 20 years ago today, 4 stars, brilliantly directed, the best choice for your daily intake of long haired culture…” When a tuxedo with a smile and a black carnation makes its way to center stage and begins reading backwards, “I buried Paul” Boos ring out from the crowd. “We came here for poetry!” was shouted in unison But it just kept on, “Number 9, number 9, number 9” The audience ran for the exit doors (stage left) and as they hit the streets looking for something better they encountered a walrus wearing a sandwich board sign the read, “Turn me on dead man” Meanwhile, back at the chicken coop…