Sitting on a Stump II
By Lou Blodgett
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Meanwhile.
On a stump, I was sitting on a stump.
I weren’t involved, I was a lump.
That stump, it was feelin’ kinda stumpy.
But still, no place is better to see what I could see.
What I could see.
I curled up on the stump.
In the dark, I snoozed.
I heard some unknown thumps,
as nocturnal critters cruised.
If your bucket list is guilting,
you should, before you die,
wrap your ears around the lilting,
plaintive ‘possum cry.
It goes:
“Crrruuuunck!” and “Grnnn!” and “Whoop!”
That ‘possum cry is weird.
And “Scree!” and “Grrack!” and “Erp!”
A thing to be beheerd.
Then, a thing, my leg a’nuzzled,
I let loose a shout unmuzzled.
Looked up, and the night was through.
And from that valley up had flew,
an object I’d been missin’.
Tangled up around my limb.
‘Twas the morning news edition.
I sat and oped and read within:
“Toward who knows what ends,
authorities did clock
Our Hero and some friends
debauching at the docks.”
What a hero he had been!
Now they threw the book at him.
Though, the book, it was quite thin.
“Falling Short”, prounounced, his sin.
The coverage, no abatement.
Rescuer: A zero.
His official statement:
“I tole you I’m no hero.”
On a stump. On a stump I sit.
There’s no better place, and it’s not jail.
On a stump, and I’m staying out of it.
Here only long enough to tell this tale.
And see what I can see.
What I can see.
He dropped from society,
shaved his locks off, and
wore gothic filigree.
Of course, he formed a band.
The venture didn’t last.
It never gain-ed traction.
What with his hero past,
‘twas but a holding action.
Ratings week, he made his move
from Doctors Phil to Oz.
With rehab. All now being proved,
became a mentor boss.
Group therapist for hire,
for those forced up and down.
Stuck in sensation mire.
It goes ‘round and ‘round.
On a stump. I’m on my natural settee.
No better place to watch things naturally.
On a stump, and seated solidly.
To watch the flora, fauna, bees.
To see what I can see.
What I can see.
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