I'm writing this
for a kindly kid
who takes a moment
from his I-Pod
to humor an old,
Anglo, gentleman.
This has no beat.
You can't see me dance
and I won't read it to you.
You read it
and solve it
yourself.
Think of it as a flyer
stuck under
your wipers.
Think of it as a supermarket coupon
for a product
you'll never buy.
It comes to you from the Planet Bizarro,
where everybody's a stupidass,
nobody knows the meaning of fun,
and swing is a lost, unfinished, melody.
Percy Dovetonsils
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/check-it-out-check-it-out/
