Where The Sidewalk Ends — Shel Silverstein
it’s coming from down there,
that’s where — down there
yes Sis, I swear!
That horrible smell
that’s filling the air,
the one that’s most certainly
impossible to bear,
is coming from that women
with the massive blue hair
sitting alone on the patio chair,
on the deck of the house,
that’s below us — right there!
What a putrid aroma,
you’d think that she’d care,
that there’s simply some things
that one never should share,
like the stink that is rising
from that patio chair,
on the deck of the house
that’s below us — down there.
the smell is outrageous
it’s terribly crass
look, it knocked our poor Rover
right flat on his ass.
And the hideous color
of that mountain of hair —
I can’t help it, can’t help it,
I can’t help but stare.
it’s tangled and horrible
and it’s disgusting too
an eye-blinding nightmarish
shade of bright blue —
and it’s causing a feeling
of nausea too!
I must look away
my heads starting to whirl,
and I feel that my toes
are beginning to curl,
I fear over the edge here
I’m going to hurl —
and I don’t want to do that
in front of a girl.
Maybe I’m wrong
but I would assume,
if one’s going to bathe
in a noxious perfume,
they’d at least have good manners
and exhibit some pride,
and not foul the ozone,
instead — stay inside,
and not be the cause
of such a mind-numbing fume
but keep the eco-disaster
contained in one room.
And if you’re chromatically challenged my friend,
consider the others that you might offend.
A monumentally grotesque rat’s nest of blue,
is not something I care to look at on you!
Look Sis, look look, look quickly down there,
that woman is getting up out of her chair.
oh joy, for joy, that’s all I can say,
thank our lucky stars, she is going away!
I hope away she will stay
for the rest of the day,
or as long as the damned wind
keeps on blowin’ this way.
revision © 2021
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