[The sixth installment of the month-long poetry sequence that began on October 1st.]
"Of a Feather"
Oren Lauter (and Luella the hill myna)
"Hey now, look at y'all go! Wish I could tag right along witcha.
But you make sure you get a good lick in for me, Johnny!"
("Johnny Troncone's got about as much balls as a eunuch!")
Swallowing, I act as if those last words were never uttered.
"That ugly bastard has got to pay for what he did to our Cyndi!"
("Awk! Cyndi won't even say who the bastard's father is!")
Still trying to ignore my chorus, I call out to the passersby:
"He's gonna be sorry he messed with the likes of us,
Or ever set hairy foot in a fine town like Grantwood!"
("Grantwood's gone to shit ever since those idiots voted in
McElroy!")
Without getting out of my seat, I raise my cane
And whack the cage hanging beside me on the front porch.
The sudden pendulatin' really gives Luella something to squawk
about.
"Baby," I chastise her as the mob moves on down the block,
"Anybody ever told you that you've got a big mouth?"
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