Poetry and Truthiness

So I see Earl Francis Fando is fabricating the network news again. It is just the sort of thing you would expect from a rogue type of person who associates with rascals and rogues and goes on vacation to rogue-filled villages across the turgid waters of the Endless Sea. I don't know if his allegations concerning Cakey the Jacked-Up Clown and Jorge Carlito Viejo are true or not. I can't vouch for either of those two beloved American icons. Mostly, I just think of them as being part of the great mass of Less Than Five Times Betterness, thus dismissing all that they are and all that they do.

And now, a poem:


Eleven persons in a too-small car,
One guy slurping a melted candy bar,
Another one putting make-up on a ceramic doll,
One playing Ping Pong with a deflated basketball,
Two eating mayonnaise right out of the bottle,
One head-locking a chicken and pulling its wattle,
Three reading comic books and wearing no pants,
One little bitty guy in the trunk doing a dance,
Seven of them have moustaches with bread crumbs therein,
Four of them have broken noses and dirt on their skin,
Five have no gender and no certain name,
Six have no singular identity but are playing a game,
and all eleven of them are melted into one big pile,
of wax and pipe cleaners and hippopotamus bile.


And on that note, a cartoon about poetry I found on VHS in a trunk in my grandma's attic: