Here's a follow-up to a post a few days ago, about the language challenged rail diver.


Over The Rail

Out of bed again
He’s way to big, I’m afraid,
When the sun comes up in the morning
He makes a lot of shade.

Over the rail he goes
Down to the floor on his butt,
His legs too weak to lift
His ponderous, bulging gut.

May the god of workman’s comp
Bestow on me a gift,
I need a miracle from heaven
A nuclear powered lift.

His surgery is in the morning
Should he survive the night,
He just might die before then
If he takes another flight.

This choice of work is dangerous
Sometimes it makes me gulp,
If this blimp collapsed upon me
I’d be reduced to pulp.

Fibril_late; 2/95