2. Willy the Cocoa
(acoustic guitar, Willy’s theme)
Hilltops gnashing dig out potholes,
Hydrants burst as early worms work this dying coyote’s jaw.
Swill pop poured from wayside bottle,
his pinhead in its shadow eclipsed in full.
Chilled cola’s free with salvage sold…
licking lips he ends his stroll.
Oh, has Willy the Cocoa come
for our tins and our jars this week?
Saluting Mummy doing some haircutting to the sun
As gap-toothed coma parts his forehead,
launching pair of seizures to the patch.
Willy ducks behind the porch steps and laughs.
he croaks, stroking creepers on his cheek,
And three years howling is the longest cowlick yet I’ve seen!
Prying X-ray spec’d, enraged at pages clawed,
kick slams the bearded baby to the ground
with his tummy clenched, muffling baffled sobs.
Papa storms in roaring, Boy, are you proud?
You’d learn him good, when smarts he could’ve took
all went instead to this clever head of yours.
So to baby— to your brother— you’ll say sorry for the world!
(mandolin, Willy’s theme)
Killcrop dashing kicks up puddle,
soused loafers shouting ‘tard payment is due.
Hit this witch with switch, whispers wind, to fix his switcheroo…
Milksop cornered into scuffle,
sack-spilled glass swung sounds the past-noon toll.
Shelled skull has freed unsalvaged soul
that saw this mulch soften asphodel.
Baby bluebonnets bloomed as new comics soon
But how marbleless, some reckoned,
being ever stuck in imp-runt age of mind!
Are you sick? I am seven, he’d reply…
And do we speak in winded whimpers
or squelch shreds of a summer gone,
ever conscious of days past forever wrong?
Such heavy fears, Mummy laughs,
Son, seventy years and you’ll be glad
to finally rest those creaking bones!
Life’s like this quilt: patchy, then it fills…
In time, with needle done, you’ll write this book of yours.
Then to Willy, in the cover could say sorry for the world!
Bobtail’s cover could say sorry for the world!
Oh, Bobtail’s cover could say sorry…!