One more in honor of Dr. Seuss

And you have to wear it


The whining winds create chasms and tunnels

in wintery castles like overturned funnels

And weaving in drunk like a cranky old yeoman

came Jens at the door with a leak to be winching

while I, in the bath, was a trouble full of nothing.

“What?” did I say at the screech of his hubbles,

“What Jens?” did I say as the soap bubbles mumbled

“I’m taking a piss,” came the voice from the outhouse

while slamming his brammels in well-hung garages.

“I’m taking a bath!” I cried out in caverns,

jingling my kneecaps for change in their baggies.

“Good,” did he snort as he yanked out his subway

and rattled the sewers and cesspools down under.

“Jens the last time we were in the same awning,

with me in the bath and you at the waterwheel,

I believe that we shared this exact conversation,”

I did spout with a wink for my keen observation.

“What?” did he grumble, and jiggled his hosiery

when suddenly I fell to a quixotic reverie:

“Where the whiches and whithers which haunt these dark caverns

confounding our words, as we, weaving a mirror

Of thought, can seek rest in a haven from garments

so hovelled by mothballs and soaking in taverns….”

“OK, Don, goodnight” was the answer forthcoming

as he zipped in his angular washer retubing,

While I, still digressing and laughing at plumbing,

wound in my mind down the stony path coming

and wandered away with the evening still dripping.


About Don Seiffert

I'm a reporter and writer in the Boston area.
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