Tripping

I tripped down to Heaven
somewhere near Devon,

I was whistling through whiskey
with a 'Wagon Wheel' on my knee,

I was the cream that got the cat
the pot they called the kettle,

strolling around in my banana skinned hat
happily slipping my mind over their heads,

counting the days way past seven
Hey! I even got pretty close to ten.

The jam was dodgy, the whirly curly
the whole dam thing
worshiped at the temple of Shirley,

The Doe nutted my kissing cousin
for eating her middle
then licked the toggle off his duffel,

I tripped down to Heaven
somewhere near Devon,
until my money escaped
and the sea went to see.

Hey! But I still pop
the odd postcard or two,
if you know what I dream.


John G.Hall(C)2004

*No drugs were used in the making of this poem.