Tropical Island Surprise
When I was seventeen, they say,
That I was quite a punk,
Living in Las Vegas,
With a lady who was drunk.
Working as a valet,
For a place of ill renown,
When I got a bigger break,
Working as a clown.
Underneath the big top,
I could be myself because,
Nobody recognized me,
For the kind of man I was.
One day, subsequently,
When the crowd was having fun,
Laughing at my clown suit,
And my make-up neatly done.
I stepped outside the circus tent,
For just a quickie break,
When suddenly a UFO,
Appeared for heaven’s sake.
A silver flying saucer landed,
Next to where I stood,
But when the hatch door opened,
Well, I knew it wasn’t good.
A beam of light encased me,
And it drew me to the ship,
I tried my best to call for help,
Without a ticket slip.
Despite my resistance,
I was pulled into the hatch,
Resigned to my existence,
In a game of set and match.
Surprisingly, no aliens,
Were anywhere in sight,
And yet, I heard a disco dance,
Resounding in the night.
I followed where the frenzied crowd,
Was dancing to the beat,
But when they saw me as a clown,
They thought I had big feet.
Immediately, I noticed,
That the dancers were female,
As beautiful as sunrise,
Or an evening fairy tale.
They seemed to come on strong to me,
Although I was a clown,
But no one stayed too long with me,
Or came from my hometown.
How difficult the dancing goes,
With great big floppy shoes,
But when the music ended,
I offered to recuse.
These fem-bots danced me over,
When I never had my lunch,
And so they offered frog-leg soup,
And Cream of Broccoli punch.
I woke up on a tropical island,
And what a sight to see,
The daughter of a headhunter,
Was slobbering on me.
I loved my island paradise,
The sand, the surf, the sea,
But I had problems, to be sure,
With hospitality.
Next time that you eat broccoli,
Will you pause and let it be?
I'm stranded on this island,
With a native chasing me.
Copyright ©
Bryan Norton
|