If your name were Bedtime
And asked for a bedtime story
People might share anecdotes
Of you in all your glory.
Your children might get all confused
When it’s their rest-your-head time
And you ask them to ask you
“Tell me a story, Bedtime?”
Or say you want a lesson
In a subject like history
And you have to tell somebody
“Tell me, Bedtime, a story.”
One thing no one asks though
Is why Bedtime isn’t sad
When he tells the story of the time
He killed his mom and dad…
The sun was a brilliant scarlet
Upon the rustling brush,
Redder than a hemorrhoid
Who’s asking out its crush.
Within the brush are little jays,
Their feathers dark and blue
Much like the mood experienced
When one eats eyeball stew.
The birds were eating insects
So tiny and so green
Like little child soldiers
The birds, thus having eaten
Flew off to sunset orange.
Alas, this leaves no conclusive rhyme
But judging by the imagery of previous examples, I doubt you’re disappointed.
Well, you tried to con a dollar
From my hard day’s work
But I’ve never worked a day in my life.
Then you tried to sell me something
In an unmarked bag.
I said “Maybe, but I gotta ask my wife.”
Then you pulled a Smith and Wesson
From your paint-on jeans
And you told me “Pull your wallet out slow.”
Nine months later you’ve a stroller,
I’m approved for my parole-a.
When it’s love, sometimes you just know.
Steve and Sharocco are tigers
But they are not alike.
Steve enjoys a day at the spa;
Sharocco likes to hike.
Steve likes Bob Ross videos;
Sharocco likes to knit.
But both love eating human flesh
So along they somehow get.
My breath smelled like a customer service hotline
So I set off to buy me a mint.
The vending machine said “Out of order”
But instead of taking the hint
I shook it, kicked it, bopped it, kissed it,
Took it to Peru.
Now it’s been 30 years today
Since it didn’t say “I do.”
Is it harder to be a single mom
Made pregnant at eleven
Or to be a single mom
When you’re a childless man at 87?
Sometimes you bite
A chocolate chip cookie
But it’s actually oatmeal raisin.
Sometimes you meet with
A girl you don’t like
But she’s actually really amazin’.
Sometimes you’re hired
For the job of your dreams
Which turns into something you dread.
Sometimes a cookie
Is only a cookie
But sometimes it’s a chimpanzee’s head.
“Peculiar” is the word she used
Which made me just a bit confused.
What’s in any way peculiar about a guy
Who likes to eat burgers for lunch
With a glass of fruity punch
And, for dessert, has a slice of gator pie?
I close my eyes, remembering
The day we almost met.
You were taking Cynthia
(Your puppy) to the vet.
You were glowing beautifully,
A tear drop in your eye,
And I was in my plain white van,
My third time driving by.
I almost parked, almost went in,
Almost told you my name
But I kept on making four right turns
And keeping things the same.
Sometimes I close my eyes and think
Of how we might have been
But it’s best for both of us if I,
For now, remain unseen.