You might think me a fool for dropping out of school,
joking for other folks' laughter and cash,
smoking licorice and poking through trash--
but can any of you hop on your hands and still look cool?
My pants if unthreaded could spread a hundred beds
yet there are no pockets, only forky holes
like the ports on light sockets mini-fold
and a three-foot long rusty zipper with a button head.
I wear four pairs of socks--none match,
and too-wide shoes with no laces;
being the butt of empty heads is a bug few catch
and fewer desire unless you could see the faces
of leering sires and graces in semi-surprise
cheering and heaving apple, lemon and cherry pies
at midget mother, farting father and side-burned me--
three little piggies earning a living traditionally.
Jester's Heritage
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