It warbled like Caruso;
A neighbor swung a baseball bat—
Now Thomas doesn’t do so.
* * *
The Mystery of Mankind
On Christmas we noticed a lot of you angling around with your tongue hanging out,
And tearfully beseeching everybody to point your ears toward a place where they sell licker
Made out of barbed wire and red ink, with a touch of rat poison thrown in to take the curse off,
And you were willing to divorce yourselves from a complete set of a dozen dollars
For the privilege of assaulting your stomach with a bottle of it.