Embarrassed
I locked my keys inside my car,
No need to wonder where they are.
I plainly see them sitting there,
The rolled-up glass is clear as air.
I pat my pockets in the hope,
I’m really not this big a dope.
But they are empty, as I knew,
And this confirms something that’s true.
If there were some way I could lock it,
I’d end up barred from my own pocket.
I know that given half a chance,
I’d lock myself outside my pants.
I’d zip them up, secure the clasp,
And only then I’d surely gasp,
To realize, of all the gentry,
My pants alone deny my entry.
I’m sure the cop would soon come ‘round,
As word would spread across the town,
“My wife’s phone number? You can call it,
It’s written there inside my wallet.”
It seemed salvation was at hand,
I stood at the door of my laundry man.
It was at this point I got extra nervous,
I saw the sign, “no shirt, no shoes, no service.”
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . January 31, 2005