The Bs About Eating Pancakes On Mardi Gras

Mardi Gras parades are rolling the streets again I watched 'Isis' from inside my windowpane A king and a queen were pretending to reign but from the colorful revelry I chose to abstain I grew up yelling, "Throw me something mister!" Going to many parades with friends and my sister. Walked miles on St. Charles Ave. and got a blister and smiled when a float rider said, "I kissed her!" I've ridden in several carnival krewes around the city The floats, the long beads and costumes are pretty I sang Prof. Longhair's "Go to the Mardi Gras" ditty but I don't miss taking part. Not one itty bitty. I began this poem thinking I'd correct a mistake the BS poet wrote about a breakfast of pancakes. No one eats that on Mardi Gras. For heaven's sake! I told him, "Everyone gets Popeye's when they wake" He read my comment and corrected the wrong date. I told him he was off by a week, and he didn't hesitate to delete my words, so I returned, not out of hate but to ask him why he did that... my curiosity to sate Another deletion without an explanation. That's BS! So, I relied on myself to come up with a good guess. I'd ruffled his ego, making it hard for him to confess that he knew nothing about Fat Tuesday. He's a mess.