Djinn Martini
"Careful with the ethanol,"
Said a fume of whisper hush.
As a thundered bolt and fire ball,
Engorged the moment with a rush.
The itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny, yellow polka-dot martini,
Lit my bokeh mind and eyelids tender soft.
Astigmatism, couldn't see the genie,
Who puffed up in the rush and coughed.
"Cover your mouth, you elemental,"
I sneered at the legless haunt,
Dental germs of a three-use mental rental,
Are hardly worth the want.
The djinn floated before me, in my grace,
On the toilet which now I sat.
"What did I rub, some sort of vase,
Or were you something shat?"
You'd think this would be the very first,
Of times this thing knew of insult.
It then attempted to cast a curse,
On an adult outgrown of the occult.
"Oh, I almost forgot you were there,"
I said as it muttered its pathetic spells.
His shape depends be I, of it, aware,
So he hushed, seeing I care for else.
And then it knew, I'd rather wander;
It knew I'm on without a wish.
I'd rather sit, than squat and squander,
And beg to smoke blown from a dish.
The questions, now, each neither know:
Which of us, is free to go,
And who from should the bottle blow?
I say as above, so my bro.
Copyright ©
B.J. Fitz
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