Precaution, VS Fear
By: Tom
3/18/2020
Just from what i see and hear,
an overabundance of precaution.
Can often lead into fear,
and constant hand “washin.”
Satire
Doing Sweeties Chores
7-9-2016
My wif no longer cuts the grass
And goat jus died from eatin glass
Her old string trimmer is most gone
She’s upen left so I’m livin alone
Our washing machine it had no cord
I think she named it MY scrub board
The iron she left had the name of sad
The wurst appliance she’d ever had
I feed the chickens and slop the hog
And at night I sleep with my ole dog
I’m now in bed most nights by dark
I lay and listen to the call of a lark
So now I’m eatin from paper plates
Clipping qupons and hunting rebates
As I hang my washin outside to dry
I think of her leavin and wonder why?
I gave her stuff and promised more
For she’d werk jus like a stevedore
Since she left things are sure rundown
ifen she’d return I’d taker to town
flushed down the toilet
all of it
all that smokie black stuff
my hands are shaking; but my hands are on da cuffs
but that voice is in my head
im getting in da shower
washin myself clean
stop knockin on my shower power
of making choice of clean
that voice knocks hard
im goin to buy a new wordrobe
lets get rid of that smellin up dope
my hans are really shakin now
i mad it through work; i dont know how
it knocks and knocks and just wont stop
just keep on knocking
i may just open up and give you a good rocking
a good old fashoned socking
and you devil are not so tough
im gonna give you all my stuff
with my cross and old-fashoned book youll go up in a puff
i wont see your ashes no more
on my floor
if you try to use pressure to get in
my family pressure will surly win
who ever heard of the devil in defeat
and the devil held down his head
cause he knew he was beat
i no longer the anti-social
afraid to greet
so go to hell in your thinking seat
now i no longer hear the devils beat
unjuggled passionate fact
live for what life is' too u
washin tide blaskin tie cason lie
I wuluck the bare thought of astanished
In a place noted black
a nagnan ture color
my face norct in flack
A house pertained in dark narshaw
I live
A room spiting tental whispering deaths ceepction
All halls triped with noise