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Some turds float...you know?
The nit-wit and the nincompoop
cordially bowed on the concert hall stoop.
Greeting the doorman, quite gaily
who nodded back, though more grayly.
And nobody dared to complain or bemoan
that fools were ruling the cobblestone
streets, where urchins peddled faux-wares
beneath the stoop, out in the square.
And the nit-wit offered a hearty wave,
but clearly knew not how to behave
While the nincompoop seemed a tad more at ease,
his pants were quite low and his crack in the breeze.
And nobody wanted to ask or inquire
whether they should pooh-pooh or if they should admire
buffoons, so clueless, off-putting and addled
for climbing the stairs in their outfits all raddled.
Yet, there they stood with their tickets in hand
eager to root for the symphonic band
as though it were some highfalutin sport
of which they knew nothing, but they would not abort
the notion that they have a place 'bove the masses
or anywhere other than out on their...well, you know.
10/27/16
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2016
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