Richard Thripp


tobacco-chawin' hick naggers


One cometh as another go-eth another year and another birthday
What clothes to buy I can not predict how massive my girth may
There is an urgency in Scripture with the Anti-Christ's emergence
That'll realize a Jesuitical-masonic-trans-humanistic convergence
Them what say there ain't room on the moon are just stick waggers
as the dark side's got the craters to bury 4.8 million Mick Jaggers
He wouldn't hurt flies but he's not above those called tick draggers
He's beaten coke, horse & meth but for booze he can't kick staggers
On bloody Halloween it's scarier to deny treats than to trick raggers
Bullyragged urbanites beware of gay, tobacco-chawin' hick naggers
Airbrushed and edited to zero to reach the ending where turnips are
Toward holes where emboldened rats retreat from sacred treks afar
Coldly laying out duchesses who are pretty daughters of the czar
Diesel, because it is oilier, is better than gasoline to roast & to char
I will never ever forget the time that I merely met singer Tom Jones
nor will I regret the whizzing bullets and crude zinger bomb moans

Submitted: Saturday, December 28, 2013
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

This waitress, our waitress, enjoys quiet walks on the beach & that sort of thing. She pitches like a ship. It's enough to induce motion-sickness among the weak. The weak are unstable. They cost healthy socialists much as charity is in the collective hearts of social pitchmen. It's a family's converging nature about the death-bed that keeps the terminally ill further than their right arm's-reach from life-saving Laetrile. I shall plow my waitress into the pasture-rich humus. She knows the rigors the rigorous retain and the associations that associates assume. [carnifex n. -es: EXECUTIONER; carnificial adj.: of or relating to an executioner or a butcher]

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