Poetry by John Donley inspired by Dylan “Ripped”


Forty years wasn't it
Before he woke up
RIp winked at his van
Got a few pints at the pub
Donald trump was president
And hugh hefner was dead
Chicks had rings in their noses
Rainbow hair on their heads
DJ newbie on the jukebox 
But no slot for his quarter
Bikers at the pool table
That's the same kinda sorta
The kitchen was open 
He could sure use some lunch
The menu was vegan
And the waitress was plump
He just ordered some soup
And some bread on the side
She brought out some scissors 
For which he was gratified
His mustache so thick
And dripping with beer foam
That soup was impossible 
Had she left him alone 
As he slurped up his soup
She asked where he had been
Just back there by the woods
With a bottle of gin
What day is it anyway 
I'm in a bit of a fog
My head hurts like hell
I'll have more hair of the dog
His battery was dead
Could he maybe get a jump
The bikers eyed him over
Did he have any junk
Took him out the back door
Assuming he was drunk
Looking into his eyes
He seemed more like a monk
All my stuff's in the van 
Behind that hill over there
Haven't checked it in a while
All they could do was just stare
A twenty three window
Clean sixty three bus
The bikers turned out to be
Savvy antique roadshow buffs
They pooled all there cash
And wrote a few checks
For a cool fifty thousand 
Rip was a bit perplexed 
Still hung over a bit
But feeling kinda spiffy
He sauntered back to the bar
The waitress was pretty pretty 
They checked in at the ritz
She sheared him like a sheep 
Then they got down and got real busy
Rip knew he was dreaming but no longer asleep 

John Donley 
March 4th 2022

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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