CROOKED

CROOKED

Crooked is the house I live in,
It leans like the Tower of Pisa.
Crooked are my braceless teeth,
My smile is like the Mona Lisa's.
Wan and faintly warm,
Virtually unknown to strangers,
My raging inner storm.

Out of my crooked bed I rise,
To greet the day and its crooked sun,
It shines too bright, you know the one.
Turn on my crooked tv and feast my eyes,
On crooked politicians and their crooked little lies.

Then my crooked little mind,
Decides to go on a crooked walk,
Can't make it to the corner without falling on my head,
On the pansies and the rhododendrons
In some crooked flower bed.

I help myself up with my crooked cane,
And leave a note to my crooked neighbors,
Your garden is a lovely mess of beauty,
You really should do your neighborly duty,
To protect it from the crooked man,
Up so early and up to no good,
Falling on your plot of land.

Crooked is the walk I walk,
Nonsense is the talk I talk,
A spin on the teenage mumble,
You parents of teens you know it well,
Resembling a pout or a grumble.
Yet it really is the best I can manage,
Walking and talking like a beast or a savage.
Ask me no questions, they only frustrate,
Forcing me to be over industrious,
They only further illustrate,
And confirm just what I meant,
When I told you in the first place
Of my speech impediment.

Then it's home for my crooked lunch.
Of ice cream and of crooked punch,
That chokes when it goes down the wrong way,
Leaving me coughing up half a lung, 
Until I maintain equilibrium.
I dial 911 on my crooked phone,
Tell them that I'm here alone, 
That they ought to send a squad car by,
With a built and hunky cop,
To wit I've had a choking fit,
That only a hunky cop can stop.

Making whoopee with Whoopi on The View,
is often all I care to do,
I have a lady crush on her,
Rosie Perez and that Nicolle Wallace too.
And I really get my groove on when Mario drops by,
The cute Cantone, that Liza clone,
Who always my crooked body wracks,
With paroxysms of crooked laughs.
I'm not sure the View is crooked,
For Whoopi she would not allow it,
But should it take a turn for the bent,
I should not disavow it.

Then it's on to the crooked soaps I watch,
The days of our awesome crooked lives,
Will, Sonny and that rascally Paul,
Who haunts you with his puppy dog eyes.
Then on to GH, perhaps the one I love the best,
Port Charles which is inhabited by the hunky Nathan West
it should not surprise you nor should it stun,
That i ask for him by name when I call the 911.
Take me, I tell Nathan, for it's GH or bust,
Corinthos and Jerome, those crooked gangster hoodlums,
They may be easy on the eyes, but harder still to trust.

Then it's time for my crooked nap
 'Til my crooked friend comes home,
He works all day to support his habit 
Of shoring up the crooked me,
And gets even for his trouble
With incessant vacuuming.
Crooked is the house i live in.
Cute though, and devoid of crumbs.
That Kyle my partner and crooked friend 
Detonates just like a bomb.
Crooked I live and crooked i'll die,
In this crooked one man show.
Promise that you'll tune me in, 
Just once before I go.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2015
ALLRIGHTS RESERVED