Non Labor (Relations) Day Poem ©

Aye dream of Genie (as a Lad din)

Schwenksville, Pennsylvania -

keystone state abbreviated as Pea Yay,

this stupid non huge poem

really...a boot nuttin

butta an overrated allay

zee good for nothing, bay

sic doofus slob, bray

zing as a ("FAKE") pence heave

trumpeting (Don Key Oat Tee),

chutzpah twittering Prez, -

whom stoop “To Kill a Mockingbird”

activate hocus pocus “Go Set NRA

as a Watchman,” yepper, hip pip hooray,

whose coon sitters un mensch hen

nib bill, one important,

non binding willy nilly play

book title, sans how to acquire,

tousled windswept coiffed soufflé

rooted under sworn confidential heady

testimony (top secret only known

between POTUS, FLOTUS,

and hairstylist Tiffany Kaljic)

helped grow "The Art Of The De..." lay

sham (poo poo) headline kept under ray

dar only "How To Get Ri." Dove lousy

tonsuring service, and how easy

to get Head & Shoulders above fray

dee cats - me owing over petty files

versus joining gray

vee train via tracking

"FAKE" pussy footing

faux Trump wannabes, hence ICE hay

Immediately railroad competition

viz, against ISIS speck did

Amazon tubby a root cause

thus resorting to

"Midas Touch:

risk to get scalped, when,

(though periwig poor

hirsute substitute), I belay

burr the point far y'all

(get a Fred – Roger over) to hoist

by one's own petard oye vey,

while channeling das directv gray

gore re: haired (50 shades), and

direct descendent from Kublai

Khan, a moost deplorable display

yellowish, venomous, serpent,

which poisonous scorpion size prey

with deadly fangs straight

(tinned by orthodontists),

a perfect set pearl whites in an array

as daggers hissed ("FAKE")

snaky intergenerational viper, and

true tomb ice elf flave

heard like a pampered baby

(nick named Keebler Khan)

unthinkable alternative

(forever shunned near and faraway)

if this poetaster doth betray

his (my) devote followers, no matter

admirably, dutifully, and gracefully

fulfilling role as sommelier

replenishing wine goblets

with vintage chardonnay,

nonetheless reprimanding recalcitrants,

who opt to breakaway

slamming, shaming, and scathing

rants against brand name

Matthew Scott Harris

finds himself a castaway,

thus unsure, how to write without delay

An insipid poem to pay

(overtime) homage about Labor Day

prepping mental gears

glommed together like clay

while cruising at mock speed

faster then (Tom Hawk)

along the (Al Gore) rhythm information

super highway expressway

axe chilly (sh...dont tell a soul

lest I club burr you -

ha juiced tees zing),

yours truly intends

to play umpteen (close

to a bajillion) rounds of golf

on the Harris fairway

Lest a Tony (nay)
boar hood tiger jumps

out of the woods painfully sinking


sharp teeth into mine flesh for play

jour quickly making mince

meat then fillet

mignon before (prestidigitation

i.e.presto) magically

regurgitating my self fully intact

as repurposed slimy trumpeting popinjay.


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