It’s tough when cell mates say goodbye.
They’re men, so they don’t want to cry.
Like brothers who have both done wrong
and been sent to their room so long,
each one knows what their mate’s about,
and suddenly, one’s getting out.
How does a con express his thanks
to one who’s helped him avoid shanks?
One guy showed macho gratitude:
carved in his skull, "I’ll miss you, dude."
Uncle Sham pulled nickels from my ear.
Always smelled of cigarettes and beer.
Told me once that he’d buy me a horse.
It was just a plastic toy, of course.
Sometimes he would bounce me on his knee.
That made me sore and feel I had to pee.
One year we had our family tree collated.
It turned out he was not even related.
O, eggs in your yellowy pile,
approaching the color of bile,
we honor your wedding with bacon,
with oatmeal the witness,
stirred but not shaken.
And there stands serene orange juice,
right next to black coffee,
a colorful truce.
Presiding over this MacGuffin,
all slathered with Smuckers,
a split english muffin.
Some say that their hairy arms
are not amongst a man’s great charms.
But some insist that if they’re braided
then the look is quite upgraded.
Some claim shaving is no trouble
up until your arms grow stubble.
Seem’s the issue’s best averted
if one remains long-sleeve shirted.
Eve was teed off at her guy.
He said he wanted apple pie.
She was extremely discontented.
Fire wasn’t yet invented.
Adam said they could adjust,
maybe use some leaves for crust.
Eve said no way she would bake.
"Why can’t we just eat some snake?"