from ErikMagnusLehnsher - Monday, April 11, 2005
accessed 1669 times
Another poem of questionable quality and value...
A purple wad of hot bubble gum
just attached itself to my shoe.
I have had so much Powerade over this weekend
I'm starting to pee a light shade of blue.
A wicked sunburn has already scorched
every inch of my poor exposed skin.
I glance down at my watch:
"Shit...Sunday 10:30 AM...I have yet to begin."
I try to smile and wave as with my bucket
carefully down the median I walk.
Yesterday I had the treacherous middle lane.
Today is better...I get to stand on the block.
"Stop beggin' and get a job you lazy bum!",
someone shouts while by his truck I linger.
I pause, then smile and say "God Bless You"
balancing my bucket handle on my middle finger.
Unbeknownst to him, to the occupation issue
I'm giving some serious consideration.
My shepherds argue that collecting chump change
is heralding the great tribulation.
But we all know better though our average age
is probably a mere seventeen or so:
It wasn't coincidence that all the adults
had important ministries so with us they seldom go.
The pain of sweat and SPF 40
in your eyes can almost make you shout
Those of us without 'brows like Joe H
know exactly what I'm talking about.
Temperature is well over 100 Degrees.
Off the asphalt you can see the rising heat.
A window rolls down and I feel the A/C on my face
as the nice lady's dollar my bucket doth meet.
As the money starts to pour in
I'm starting to feel a lot more zealous.
Then again, I've inhaled enough exhaust
to make both Cheech and Chong jealous.
There's nothing more repulsive then
approaching a fluttering dollar from a car
and realizing that an ugly, but-ass naked,
masturbating man turns out to be your benefectar (poetic license invoked on the spelling)
Is that a drop of rain I just felt?
I feel like the jubilant Dodger's player
in Rockwell's "Bottom of the sixth" painting
hoping the skies will grow yet grayer.
But it was just a quick summer shower
so after a break to my rut I've returned
Fridays and Saturdays are tough enough.
The thought of Sundays I have always spurned.
I hear a voice I dread over a megaphone
just when I think things can't get any worse:
"Hey bucket boy! Come over to my police cruiser!"
I comply while under my breath I start to curse.
I guess my heartfelt spiel didn't convince him
'cause now he's inspecting my Florida-issued ID
"I hope you recognize me...I'm not usually this red"
At my joke he's not nearly as amused as me.
So I sit for 10 minutes in his Crown Victoria.
His cop computer doesn't show any warrants pending.
"All right kid, you're clear. I'll let you out.
But not more soliciting or to jail YOU I will be sending!"
"Yes sir, officer. We'll head home right now.
My partner and I will be happy to cease and desist.
We'll never come out (to this intersection) again.
I promise", as I glance down at my wrist.
It's only 1:15 PM and our ride won't soon arrive.
Three hours we must now think of a way kill.
Looks like the cop has salvaged the afternoon.
We'll catch a flick with time leftover still.