Reposted From The Weary Wolf Journal
The Dream
I had a dream.
And in that dream,
I had a vision of the future.
And in that future I witnessed,
A morsel of pop culture.
For in that vision I saw,
A blameless babe sitting in a high chair.
And he wore his bib, and kicked his tiny feet,
And his mother was pressing a spoon to his lips.
And when, as in a dark, dangerous storm,
A thunderous clap arose,
And the odiferous funk of his newly filled diaper
Reached her merciful, motherly nose,
Then she, with furrowed brow, leaned in
To his seemingly proud little face,
And, changing to a gentle, forgiving smile,
Curiously whispered to him,
"Did you make a Blagojevich again?"
© Copyright 2009 Clay M. Riness
I had a dream.
And in that dream,
I had a vision of the future.
And in that future I witnessed,
A morsel of pop culture.
For in that vision I saw,
A blameless babe sitting in a high chair.
And he wore his bib, and kicked his tiny feet,
And his mother was pressing a spoon to his lips.
And when, as in a dark, dangerous storm,
A thunderous clap arose,
And the odiferous funk of his newly filled diaper
Reached her merciful, motherly nose,
Then she, with furrowed brow, leaned in
To his seemingly proud little face,
And, changing to a gentle, forgiving smile,
Curiously whispered to him,
"Did you make a Blagojevich again?"
© Copyright 2009 Clay M. Riness
