Member-only story
poetry
O Cheyenne
Jump from the frying pan
And into the scramble
Of meaty goodness not of spam
Cheyenne, move across the land
Exempt from those tired old scams
Make your blowing glance, Cheyenne
Why don’t you go on the lam
Don’t listen to your fans
They could be unhinged; they have not been scanned
Cheyenne, feed the baby — get yourself a pram
Read it Peter Pan
Like Michael Jackson in Paris or Japan
Cheyenne, let go of the rants
You’ll get ants in your pants
And may miss the Second Coming
And certainly, a second chance
Cheyenne, do not prance
Like the Pirates of Penzance
Take a chance, you might meet a nice boy at a local dance
Cheyenne, your choices are hardly scant
Nice boys at local dances and reading Peter Pan
Ouch! Take a stand, damn, Cheyenne
Say just for today I shan’t slam,
And if I see a dealer, I’ll tell him to go scram
Cheyenne, go find a beach, lie on the sand
Yes, what I am saying is…go get a tan
It’s time to move on girl — it now beckons, your program
