Who are you, where am I, how are we to deny
Short years, freak fears, dry tears passed us by
I but blinked an eye, and a thought got caught
In my throat as I dote, in a floating boat dearly bought
By blood that dug out dirt so we could float
Around my castle, I’ll bid we’re hid amid my moat
Past the last of the battle, I know the mast is a hassle
But still, let’s thrill, bend the will to the twill of the tassel
Time to cast all else aside, it’ll dangle on the side,
The border of my mortar as I stride
Beside the laureate tide, I slide a slight
Side step out of order, slip a sight
Atop of cords of reporter’s recorders twisted and bended
Such a stressful mess must be mended
But our time is ended you see,
Send some younger jerk to his AV destiny
So order me a frosty, filled pale ale,
Served fully, and wholly, not holy in a grail
Don’t port her a short porter
For Shirley, you see, she’s a hop-hoarder
Pour to the tip-top mug border and him,
So slim, why you can sate his whim
With a glass glossed from stem to brim, a blur
Of, what the hell rhymes with Pilsner?
Whatever, who cares, who dares to group pairs
Hop up atop tables to strip wears ‘till bare
Feel the flickering foul fumes and acrid dive-bar air
And declare with flare as they stare:
“I am a vacillating hippopotamus! Beware!”
now drop down to the floor, chug some more
flop a tip and then dash out the door
before the cops stop by to ask the who’s and the why’s
and which way’s, while sipping their pops (and rye)
don’t gab and greet, to be free you must Retreat!
Be fleet, shake those feet down the street
We’ll meet at the shore, as swimming hippopotami
And, what the hell rhymes with Pilsner?
-David Huseby