On Being A Grown Man Who Plays With Words In His Spare Time

The not too horrible or painful experience that was his life

Summed up with multisyllabic words like a Swiss pocketknife

Engulfing him in guilt and other self-inflicted strife

There was something about having fun at another's expense

Personal turmoil long-lost counterfoil sugar-coated snakeoil

He had time now to indulge in his whimsey

He'd publish them all no matter how flimsy

Maybe even find a way to sneak in djibouti

Lecturing about poison pens to the secretary of defense

Razor blades hand grenades transparent masquerades

All the elements necessary for getting along with others

Teachers insisting they sing in harmony like the Everly brothers

For wishing violence against their angry fathers and absent mothers

As if by encouraging peace they were assuaging a need for penitence

Dark purple shadows vegetarian commandos coloratura sopranos

That girl he only knew by her street name Ton o' Lovin' Brenda

Looked like a friendly overfed rat but lived her own agenda

She couldn't care less what others thought didn't keep a corrigenda

What she lacked in education she made up for in common sense

Sometimes drunken mimes quietly whisper sober rhymes