The Centurion's Jockstrap Lullaby

image borrowed from bing

The Centurion's Jockstrap Lullaby

“I like nonsense; it wakes up the brain cells.”

--Dr. Seuss.

In the forgotten field

                         of broken tombstones,

                         seven Cadillacs burrowed busily

for tender golden sparrows;   leaving their own feathered fins

                          fluttering around their naked

                          steamer trunks that were covered

with Andy Warhol stickers faded over

Lewis Carroll countries

that only appeared in books by Tolkien. 

The retarded Kenworth sat back

                      on its bronze air brakes

                      happily munching its radial fritter

as kaleidoscope buffalo wings suddenly

                      sprouted, then blossomed

                      on ten tan tortoises who

were really not experienced flyers,

quickly crashing into

                                Lady Liberty’s underpants,

                                the Eiffel Tower’s borsalino, 

                                & the Space Needle’s embattled butt.

There were three prophetic mice

that roared in Minnesota, while

                      three homosexual moose

                      were prosecuted for nibbling

on underage mangos in Montana,

that confused state where only constipated 

                      red armadillos are allowed

                      to drive the invisible state trooper

pursuit vehicles, being forced to wear their natural kevlar

24/7.

I believe that Big Bertha,

the world’s largest mechanical mole,

                                                 collided with two albino Orca

in the men’s room

                    of a Seattle Turkish bathhouse,

                                        famous for being relocated

                                                     to Bend, Oregon secondary

to public lewdness, 

indecent violent viola concerts without a permit,

& for wearing lacy women’s girdles

as holiday headgear.

I postulate that nonsense

makes plenty of cents,

            even though we know

that pennies never did immigrate from

            Heaven, Alaska,

            & one day soon will not come from anywhere,

but rather will be roughly rounded up

            like ghetto Jews by jack-booted thugs

trained tenaciously in secret at Ft. Knox--

            & all those holy Lincoln heads will be marched off

to the Federal Ovens,

            first to be incinerated, & melted down,

before being reconstituted as a fully funded shining Colossus,

an 85 story statue created to stand proudly perched

                   across the murky Hudson,

one foot in Manhattan,

                   the other in Springsteen’s cactus garden

in the dense jungles of New Jersey;

that will resemble George W. Bush in

a fetching concrete toga,

                 with twin bandoliers of missiles

                 worn across his concave chest,

                              rows of observatory windows

                              peeking out of his back pockets,

                                            with black beehives for eyes,

                              an elephant’s trunk for a nose,

with patriotic laser beams shooting

out of his clenched fists,

                              both raised over his helmeted head

in gallant defiance;   

                              an olive branch in one,

                              & a carrot in the other. 

             

Glenn Buttkus

Posted over at dVerse Poets MTB

Would you like to hear the author read this bit on nonsense to you?