Death Of A Shriner

“I’m in trouble.” So she says.
She doesn’t have to wear a fez
And act like she can drive this toy.
I park the car atop a boy
Who ran onto the route, get out
And, standing proud and tall, I shout,
“Missy, I don’t give a–” Wham!
I die before I get to “damn.”
The troubled young distraction sighs
And turns away. To my surprise
I watch her do this. I’ve expired,
Yet I’m still okay! Just tired.
Wish I could have lost the hat,
But heaven doesn’t work like that.
The elephant that mowed me down
Has subsequently crushed a clown
So loneliness won’t be my curse,
Just slapstick. Hell. It could be worse.

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