Bonaparte's Revenge

Bonaparte's Revenge

Oh how foolish kids can be,
on their bikes under the climbing tree.
One on the Blue Booger,
the other on the Green Snot,
making bold but simple assertions
about a great military man,
laughing about his humiliating condition
many years after his death.

And in the heavens Napoleon looks down,
with those madman eyes
that everyone always raves about,
and he chuckles, knowing how simple there boys are,
being pre-pubescent and all.
"You silly boys," he slightly fumes,
"one of you shall pay for such insolence."
His finger nail mares a soft clay figurine.

The Green Snot is being peddled home
and the rider can feel it.
"Not me, oh please no me," he whispers,
"what a terrible thing to happen."

The boy gets home, drops to his knees
and goes through the motions of
"Please God, Please."

Black Ball

There are lists miles long I’ve heard,
Where people reside faceless,
Black specters in a white desert.
There are those of the deceased,
Lists of soldiers and sailors,
And those of the living.
Lists of the wedded and the armed,
But then there are those on a blacker plane.
Where the specters may haunt,
And yet not know why, or even that they are there.
At the head of such lists are those
That claim certain things aren’t important
To them; to love.
Yet in a short while, they contradict their stance.
Next are the names of those with no false claims,
Although more blunt, at least more honest,
Just a genuine wickedness.

These are the names of woman who have slipped,
Whose tongues have let loose
The most wicked words,
Those words that make me cringe.
It’s a list I’ve been keeping
For a number of years,
And it may go for five miles
Or more before it will end.
And you can probably safely bet you’re there.
But don’t you fret, you’re in good
And voluminous company.