IN A BIT OF A FUNK

IN A BIT OF A FUNK

Excuse me, for I’m in a bit of a funk,
Like a road kill squirrel or unfortunate skunk.
But unlike that skunk in his black and his white,
I cannot go quickly into the night.

Excuse me, for I’m in a bit of a funk,
Pardon me, pardon me, please,
Unlike the brass knuckled city punk,
The down and out looter, the out and out drunk,
I am the proud owner of a designer disease,
A black ship sailing on pirate seas.
The reckless wanton disregard,
It opens its jaws and crushes me hard,
Like a garbage truck treats random junk,
Pardon me, for I’m in a bit of a funk.

Excuse me, for I’m just a little bit dizzy.
Forgive me my tantrum and pardon my tizzy.
Up to my eyeballs in hoc to the docs,
Lining my closets with inflatable bills,
Stripped to the bone with no marketable skills,
Oh how my battleship is sunk,
Here in my pivotal, pitiful funk.

Excuse me, for I’m in a bit of a jam,
Nobody knows or cares who I am,
Not in the least bit handsome or glam.
If only I were a Cosmo or a Playgirl hunk,
Why I could sure make enough by posing in the buff
With tasteful photographs of my junk,
In cool strategic places.

A film career could be my calling,
if I could stop this random falling.
For a man upon his feet unsure, can be costly to insure,
Just go and ask my carrier.
It’s plain to see that woe is me,
Everywhere I turn’s a barrier.

Excuse me, for I’m in a bit of a funk,
A cheapo muffler or carburetor
And its lonely pricey clunk.
Get me to a nunnery soon
Or the monastic ways of a penniless monk.
And turn my tantrum and my tizzy
Into a Gregorian chant.
Give me three square meals a day,
Relieve me of my tiresome rant.

Or maybe an ugly man like me
Would fare much better on the streets,
A twisted Johnny Rotten or Sid Vicious wannabe.
Sucking dry Society’s mammoth welfare teets.
With a clothespin clamping shut my nose
And crowding out the stench,
Some wild and wanton woman
I will take for my wonderful wench,
Accepting all offers and draining the coffers,
Once more in the game, no longer benched.

Excuse me, for I’m in a bit of a funk,
Envying the roadside squirrel, the flat as a pancake skunk.
Too young to die, too old to pimp, too cursed to even care.
Alone in this wreckage, this ship that has sunk,
This tainted Titanic beyond all repair.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED