Saturday, October 22, 2016
The tune was, “Pop Goes the Weasel”,
Played while cranking the Jack-in-the-Box.
Twenty years later, I screamed at a clown,
In the drive-thru at Jack-in-the-Box;
Ordering into a garbled speaker,
A Jumbo Jack in a cardboard box.
Thirty years later in an antique shop,
I found a hundred-year-old music box.
Giant brass cylinders, with organized pins,
All stored in an oak wooden box.
A few turns of the wind-up crank,
Set in play, the best scores of Bach’s.
Now that I’m pushing seventy,
I can’t fight, I’m too old to box.
I don’t even envision a future,
Outside of a new pine box.
My only escape, I’ve recently found,
Is Franzia wine, right out of the box.