THE WRATH OF MOME

October 13, 2015
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while suffering the wrath of mome

i wandered far away from home

i hopped aboard a trolley car

and hopped off at the nearest bar

in palsied hands i gripped the glass

‘what’s wrong, old sock?’ said Darla Bass

‘the wrath of mome,’ was my reply

she fell back stunned and turned to fly

departed with a strangled cry

i fell face-down upon the floor

scuttled swiftly out the door

oh how e’er long must i roam

while suffering the wrath of mome

Filed under:
dada, Loon Poetry by Doc

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