Why I Keep a Low Profile I E Namely Remain Invisible
Why I keep a low profile i.e. namely remain invisible
Alternately titled -
dear readers ye each saddled as exegete
to make sense little known excerpt
referencing obscure passage printed
calligraphy style groovy and neat
found scrawled in book of Matthew
which Biblical passage also replete
with date of last family outing
~mid January 2020 birthday treat
at Collegeville Diner.
Countless reported instances occurred
well... honestly maybe at least once or twice
(oh and of course preposterous claims
abounded made by men
and even cheesy mice),
where public television viewers
like you dearly paid ultimate price
by merely stealing quick (hesitant) glance,
or if feeling brave
a prolonged stare would suffice
nevertheless, (whether former or latter case)
their fate sealed, especially viewing
against heeding sagacious advice
daring themself just sneak peak
of mid abdomen (mine)
of course including ridiculously
absurd looking headshot
(none other than mine) -
jarring funny bone enough to suffice.
An instantaneous propensity would elicit
heard all around world wide web,
particularly along rolling green acres
of Highland Manor) many a hee haw
(mostly strangers no less) burst out laughing
by ghost of George (Bernard) faux Shaw
vocalizations, viz uproarious thunderous guffaw
(think trademark utterance linkedin with hyena)
out the mouths of babes,
plus purple people eaters,
and many an in and out law
even envision token blushing zebra
as authenticated constituting last straw
that broke camel's back,
who also fell over convulsing
with belly aching jaw
breaking, teeth clattering writhing cackle
and impersonating chickens squawk
king, the feeble and lame metaphors I draw
though the aforementioned raw
bits of good humor
spurred courtesy eldest sister
(she decreed exempt, and not held accountable)
while celebrating recent birthday (mine)
(as iterated earlier)
at Collegeville Diner ~mid January 2020.
Hence... unlawful and
overly dangerous to affix
boot impossible mission to squelch
totally tubular poetic antics
whereby sharing photographic likeness
(mine), lest picture unleash battery of bricks
getting hurled toward me
at light speed, where clicks
of handcuffs and leg irons
would immediately shackle
purportedly once worn by Jimi Hendrix,
thus I felt gently brushed with Woodstock fame
subsequently tolerated
and welcomed skin lacerated
with deep purple chafing and nicks.
Copyright © Matthew Harris | Year Posted 2020
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