Monday, December 28, 2009

They Gave You WHAT For Christmas?!

Friday, December 25, 2009

The morning was peaceful at daybreak - and calm.
My dreams were a joy; they served as a balm
For the indignities suffered living next to the famous
TLC Catering, run by Andy and Amos.

My half-sleep was shattered at seven-fifteen
By banging and yakking and a gravel-voice sing.
The Grinch was up early this fine Christmas Day
And her mission was something that no one dares say.

Oh, what was that noise? My ears took the hit!
'Twas the loud strains of soft rock that accompany the shit
Served up from the roach coach they defensively guard
Within the bleak compound of their half-acre yard.

The serenades, football games, news breaks with smokes,
Station identifications, the advertising blokes -
It goes on all day and well into the night.
Just their way of saying, "Yep, we're here to spite!"

The speaker they mounted just over the fence
(By design that only to them makes some sense)
Is directed at my window, at the side of my home,
To broadcast their presence, their frothing, their foam.

The three rabid cookies, running this scam for years,
Do everything possible to assault all the ears
Within earshot - those of their most hated neighbor
Who dared challenge permit, and dog count, and trailer.

They continually scream, "Don't you look, but now HEAR me!
Ain't nothin' that you can do, 'cause we're in the cuntry!"
The control freaks next door demand homage or scraping,
"We're here, but we're not here," is the game that they're playing,

So with trucks, and with trailers, deliveries, and ice,
Stinking barrels of fry grease, they lie and aren't NICE.
They are troublesome parasites, sucking milk from the city
Whose breast is exhausted, just a saggy, dry tittie.

We live in a town, you see, ruled by committee,
Who's idea of action is to preen and look pretty.
Their powers of judgment offend in extreme
And to listen for moments makes one want to scream.

Their minions - no better - can spin many words
From brains that are smaller than ‘most any bird’s.
“Sue them on your own,” say the powers that be,
“’Cause we don’t know nuthin’. You get nuthin’ for free.”

So much for this Christmas. So much for Three Beaches –
Those big greasy trucks run by neighboring leeches.
This God-awful nuisance! When the lawsuit is over
Perhaps then some peace returns. Come Springtime; come Clover.

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