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
Fevers of the Mind 