June 2011

Orange is Funky Punky

sun shuffles shadow through frames, in desk
I toss pencil and notebook, onto stitched leather pencil pouch

a smiling orange sun colors funky me, smiles punky
at me, like it’s hiding pens markers and all my erasers and

I don’t want to give it any more pencils, no you won’t eat my pencils,
better not eat all my pencils, you stay inside the desk, funky punky

stitched leather pouch, you stay inside the desk
or I’ll take the smiling orange sun sticker off you, strip it off

your punky little face, like scalps and dried lips
from ugly punky little truants, running north over west past south

through mountain passes orange prairie grass and
wide desert field, cactus, rain covered stones and holes

tunneled under river, through forest hill and trees, and fences
torn apart ‘cause ugly punky orange sons think they just

can walk in here work build clean wipe run over jobs over
and take them away and offer a butt funky sly ugly

smile, and waddle down street scrub sweep clean the next house, but
don’t come in here, you go stand stay outside or I’ll forcibly remove

you to outside, don’t want no orange funky sons faces here, don’t want
no orange punk sun sticker on my stitched leather pencil pouch, go