I imagine little house on the prairie
(bordering Lake Woebegone),
a place to hang cloak
most bucolic, edenic, idyllic...
apropos place for this poetic cowpoke,
who at present day trumpets
himself as token panhandler
of Perkiomen Valley, a
genteel, gentile, and gentle
Semite with friendly okie doke
demeanor easily mistaken
for dishabille and disheveled drunk,
nonetheless harmlessness, I evoke
espied by any man, woman and child
in these parts predominantly
non kosher festive folk,
(especially at Old Pool Farm
August 16, 17, 18 2019)
quick witted with zealous
wordplay, quips and/or
oy gavalt hexameter innocent joke
adroit, capable, das strict
test electrifyingly
faux gerrymandered,
incredible ventriloquist
nsync with karaoke
reaching within my
rabbinical bag of tricks
succeeding with flying colors
par excellent masterstroke
or sometimes more'n one ministroke
never abracadabra prestidigitation
to insult nor poke
fun at anybody but yours truly,
though even lampooning
self could provoke
unwittingly etiquette revoke
king welcome as town
pauper, inscrutable hobo
(phobic) figure, beggar
pummeled By George with
thoroughly good soak
king courtesy rotten tomatoes
if gibes overly saucy
subsequently shuffling off into sunset
emulating Charlie Chaplin
encountering wealthy patron
as blessed thunderstroke
before getting struck by lightning!
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