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With Apologies To A
Good Man by Ken
Shiovitz I’m sorry Doctor Monheimer, It’s me that skinned the skunk Outside your office window, It really musta stunk. The temperatures were lofty, The sun was beating down, I thought the courtyard empty Until I saw your frown. They say in time it passes, So let us call a truce. Some swear it will be vanquished by A soak in tomato juice. This job is rather precious, Stuffing skins and stripping bone. A museum life is challenging, I’m often left alone. “Hello there Mr. Crocodile, How are your nails today?” Refilling para-di-chloro-benzene.... Why do they turn away? Must I really clean out the colony Of beetles that eat the meat, With spiders in balanced numbers? I really can’t stand the heat. You mean I forgot to gut it, Pig so bloated now in death? I’ll charge it with my scalpel, Then retreat to cleansing breath. But where perform the surgery? None could be unsublimer. Perhaps in that deserted courtyard, Beneath window of Dr. Monheimer? |
