Mr. Question Man Poem by Howard Camner

He always wants to know how you are
then he wants to know how you're not
His wallet is thick
but his skin is thin
He interrogates, contemplates, masticates, stays up late
and investigates
He needles and noses where he doesn't belong
He prods and probes till you want to scream
then he circles the globe and he's back again
He wants to know this
and that
and that and this
so he can bury it in his haunted attic
so he can dig it up long after it's dead
Mr. Question Man
puts you on trial for not being him
But his name alone means nothing
unless you're a bank teller
and that's not saying much