To a Friend In Indianapolis

I know a girl who lives in Indy, She wore a short skirt on a day that was windy, When the wind blew, she thought it was a gas. To show all the people her little cute ass. As she strolled along, she bumped into a man, He smiled at her so sweetly, that she became his fan, He said his name was Eddie, she said she was Michelle, And what happened next, well I'm not allowed to tell. ............................................................................ Earlier, I wrote a poem, and I sent it down to you, What I'm gonna write this time, I haven't got a clue, When my fingers press the keys, I hope that words will flow, So what this ode will turn in to, I really just don't know. Now, I'm on the second verse, the first one wasn't much, Words are just not flowing, I must have lost my touch, If things don't happen quickly, I'll write something else instead, My career as a poet, will have to be declared dead. ........................................................................... I am going to have another try, at being a poetry writer, I cannot stop my verse career, I have to be a fighter, Rhyming words is not so hard, giving up would be so meek, If I can't do it by Sunday, I'll give it up next week. Words like 'orange' crack me up, there is no word for it to rhyme, Another one is 'Indianapolis', my career ain't worth a dime, I'm gonna try writing songs instead, rhyming words ain't so important So here I go...sha la la lee, Life is not........impotent.