Jinxed with accursed automobile woes

Small fortune already spent

to maintain 2009 Hyundai Sonata

(pray cuz I love genii, or even mirthful

teletubby heaven sent)

compromising financial means to pay rent,

telecommunications service provider (Verizon),

electric company (PECO), sparking pent

up rage against the machine money meant

to buffer panic attacks

springing up like Jack in the box

yet, yours truly feels his soul got lent

to the devil, impossible mission

peace of mind out of reach for this gent

and the misses forced in poor house

alms reached out

imploring cosmic consciousness

me equal decent

fellow asking please

dole out at least one red cent

with quite a few right sided zeros

before decimal point

to relieve soul searing ailment.

Nor can yours truly afford

a new preowned vehicle

perhaps dismal circumstances

will witness me pedaling

preschool sized tricycle

generating stares aplenty quizzical

bystanders, especially kids

pointing out overgrown practical

joker, many grownups

look twice dismissing optical

illusion concluding meshugganah

mister man maniacal,

nonetheless entire crowd

coon sitters me hysterical.

Thus hoop fully explains zit

all regarding why I writ

silly poem about me,

a pedal pushing panhandler twit

(jab only fore sake of poem),

who wheely did quit

the madcap rat race

cold turkey working for nonprofit

named Matthew Scott Harris,

he sports fifty shades of gray matter

boasting memory equalling one kilobit

more than adequate as Herman's hermit

petsmart exuding blissful esprit

de corp sometimes volunteering

with Smokey as his fiery bandit.

If ja happen to espy

older pencil necked geek

most popular within

of enclave Battle Creek,

cuz, constitutes major producer

comprising breakfast cereal of champions

just toss legal tender into sleek,

the only pot I got to piss'n

actually a family heirloom antique

sold to me on grandfather's deathbed.