I'd dub him the spawn of Satan,
but even the Devil has more class
than to lay claim to a gutless ass
with poppy seed sized stones.
A lurking jerk who doesn't work
save to scheme
and cries cerebral dysfunction
as if it were sufficient unction
for the decent who slip
in the trail of bull feces
that spurts from his lips.
Filth took me for a ride
and blinded, I wound up in a slide,
(Ma said always look for good
even in the most rotted wood)
a two block long excursion
being baptized by BS immersion.
But the truth has set me free.
So now I await
a face to face date
with the louse who owns my house
(or used to anyway, that it was sold,
he forgot to say)
before the pilot lights get doused,
but I doubt he'll show
as his mental malfunction
is a myth
and deep down he surely knows
a freak off season hurricane
has made landfall
and its name is Lisa.
It's my time to blow.



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