Bill swore he was spawned
From the left nut of God.
Why else would he end up
In the asylum on a regular basis.
He knew the world was crazy,
He wasn’t the only one insane.
But, somehow, somewhere
There was a logic to it all.
Fish can live in water but not
So well in tea. Vinegar is out.
The saucers come at night
But they never take him away.
Damn them for that! He’d like
To disappear to another planet.
He’d really prefer one with air.
The doctor comes in twice a day
To do Bill’s rectal exam. And,
Twice a day, the wandering doctor
Is shown back to his padded cell.
Maybe it was better on the street.
For sure, for Bill life was a daily grind.
But there were fewer doctors there.
One thought on “Daniel S. Irwin”
Great poem. Nicely done.