Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Poetry Wednesday: Ode To A Moron

Note: This was written to be read aloud in front of an audience. It's also completely true, with the exception of one thought I put in a character's head, though I think it's reasonable to assume he thought that.

Ode To A Moron

Here’s a story I remember,

From a far distant December...

Atop the ski hill in a tiny town in BC,

There are many resorts. One in particular,

A monument to excessive wealth,

Has several multifloor buildings within its compound.

Here, there was a woman from Manchester,

With son and husband, first time in the country.

She found out that night that, once lost,

One simply can’t replace one’s dignity.

She forgot plenty of important details...

Like that the door to her deck automatically locks,

That winter in Canada is rather cold,

And that bringing your clothes with you to the hot tub,

Or at least a towel,

Or at VERY least, a bathing suit,

Is generally a good idea.

When her time in the tub was done, she found herself trapped.

In a panic, she shivered and she shrank.

She couldn’t wake husband or son, she found herself trapped.

In a panic, leapt into a snow bank.

Off her balcony, two floors,

Then ran she did, door to door,

Screaming “let me in”.

No one did, of course.

Don’t get any ideas, she wasn’t ugly,

But the time was.

After checking all buildings, save one,

At the morning hour of quarter to one,

One couple, tired as they were kind,

Opened the door only to find

A stark raving mad stark naked Madchester woman.

The husband was unsettled by this.

She wasn’t ugly, of course,

I’m sure that thoughts of intercourse

Ran through his head.

As did thoughts of losing his bed for a couch.

But they did help this damsel in distress,

And lent her a towel with which to dress,

Then called the security guard,

The knight in bright yellow reflective armour!

Well, not really armour, it’s actually a jacket...but it is official looking, and that’s what counts.

Our hero arrived at the scene moments after the call,

Much to the relief of all involved.

The master keys were in my hands,

Her destiny was in my hands,

If only she could remember

Her god damned room number.

She shot a few numbers at me, and none stuck.

Finally I asked her name, which she gave in confidence,

And I found her room rather quickly.

The walk was fairly long, sadly,

She was frantic, raving madly,

She then told me her life story,

Which was, frankly, fucking boring,

But it’s how I got that Manchester fact

That I used way back,

At the beginning of this story.

We found her building, finally.

The one she didn’t check, naturally.

But it’s where we reached the climax of her stupidity.

After all her panicking and moping,

Her condo’s front door was left wide open

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