Shael Riley Revenge Of The Mullet
Something about his name
demands the definite article.
Eighties flair and light brown hair cascading
from his skull.
The day that he moved nextdoor,
I knew I had to pack up and go.
His dad and he had his eye on me, but how was I to
know?
When he burst into my room,
The bathroom floor was a plane-wreck.
It really wasn't my fault
But he didn't fact-check.
He chased me out of my place,
wielding his replica broadsword.
The shower curtain was fake.
It was made of cardboard.
Sunday
Take a walk in the park;
Monday
Sit alone in the dark.
If he sees me,
I know he will eat me.
Somethings about his way,
suggests a man who won't be
outfoxed
Swagger wide and
smile snyde
American dreadlocks.
God couldn't clear my name
And if he could he don't wanna hear
Not one question, never rest
enthusiastic fear.
In battle he disapears
and re-appears like a ninja
His flowing back-level beard
blowing in the winda-a!
He isn't racist at all.
He wants it seperate but equal
Thinks people just get along
within their own people.
You may,
lose your way in the park.
You may,
bump your head in the dark.
You make sense
but
I'm lost in a
haircut.
