Jack and Jill,
Went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down,
And broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.
We all know,
There’s more to go,
About this well disaster.
Jack got home,
Started to moan,
Went to see Doc McMaster.
Well ole doc,
Looked at the clock,
Said the store’s open uptown.
So he wrote,
Jack out a note,
Told him, “these will fix your crown.”
Mom found out,
When Jack went out,
He was with that **** Jill Brown.
Jack got home,
Mom wasn’t alone,
She said son set your ass down.
This man here,
Is preacher Greer,
He has some questions for you.
If you’ve been,
Playing again,
There’s only one thing to do.
Jack and Jill,
Stayed wed until,
Their fourteenth child was brand new.
Jack was quick,
Got in his buick,
Left Jill living in a shoe.
The next time,
A hill you climb,
Just make the right selection.
If you go,
You need to know,
Use some kind of protection.
When I think of all the seconds I drubbed my fingers
On the skin of long-drummed typefaces to wipe spam
Away from the screen of my inboxes in my computers
I wonder how many years of my life drift as flotsam
So many sales pitches tail in mouth in epizeuses
String their tuneless spiralling from end to no-end
Swim in the swirling soup strings of multiverse oases
Lost as jetsam into a blacksucked bottomless oven
A spam is a foe who seeks to con you as an old friend
Sure don’t mean that old spiv driveling over your girl
But who’ll make you think you’re good for a lend
While he seeks to worm your hard disc in a whirl
McPeesee McCoffee McMoney or McMaster Kasparov
Spam is the Checkmate King none of us can fend off
© T. Wignesan – Paris, from the Collection “Poems Omega Plus”, 2005.
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