« Santa's Coming | Main | The Feast Day of Adam And Eve »
December 24, 2004
Beat Nick :: a poem
The Big Red Daddy
It was the night before Christmas
When all through my pad
There was nothin happening
It was really quite mad
All my stockings were washed
I had nothing to do
‘cept read old magazines
and pretend they was new
And my dear Daddy-O curled up for his nap
But I was all flip
and ready to snap
All the cats were just winkin about forty times
But I was just hanging
and makin up rhymes
When out on the street
I heard somethin go down
It couldn’t be good
There’s always trouble around
I went to the window and unlocked the gate
I shut off the light and peeked through the grate
The glare from the streetlight broke the night like a stick
And made all the livin things beneath it look sick
When what to my wondering eyes fall upon
But a Red Checker Cab with it’s off-duty light on
Now the driver played bongos, so lively and quick
I knew in a moment it must be Beat Nick
And the gang of street color had heard and they came
But Nick, he was cool, and called ‘em by name
Yo Dash-a Yo Dance-a Yo Prance-a Yo Vixen
Heh Dopey Heh Sleepy Heh Grumpy and Nixon
Clear off that stoop! Don’t write on that wall!
Now go away! Go away! Go away all!
He came over and looked up at the fire escape ladder
He jumped and he climbed He made such a clatter
To the roof he went, but then turned around
Cause you see up there, no chimney he found
He was dressed to the Nines in some very cool threads
His color this evening, as always, was Red
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
The goatee on his chin was as white as the snow
His shades were quite dark and fit him just right
He had no trouble seeing, although it was night
The stub of a camel he held tight in his teeth
And the smoke rings encircled his head like a wreath
I laughed when I saw him, HA, he made me quite nervous
All he said was, " This is cool, Momma, not at all like Port Jervis"
He started to play a cool riff on his drum
Kept on eye on his cab A tow truck might come
He snapped his fingers at the end of his poem
Said, " It’s been cool baby, but it’s time to be going’"
He jumped in his taxi
His power steering squealed
He laid down some rubba as he spun his back wheels
And I heard him exclaim as he ran a red light
"Cool."
copyright © Kat Caverly all rights reserved
Posted by photocartoonist at December 24, 2004 10:10 AM
Comments
Very hip
Posted by: Fat Bob at July 17, 2006 4:49 PM