A poem by Muriel Mackie, sophomore Marketing Major
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Bandersnoot just told my mamma,
There’s a big ‘ole threat of a big mamma jamma,
And she’s so mad she grabbed her scrunchie,
Took to the road and hailed some honey,
Who drove her past the ten-cent line,
Right on past those neon pines,
To the only place where carpet grows shag,
And polio Paleo’s sell more drip than drag,
And water runs green through jagged acrylics,
And thick smoke chokes joke psychoanalytic’s,
Yeah, she spun outta that car, heels skidding gravel,
Swinging shined hips with the strength of a gavel,
Squinting in that greasy glow,
Pointed finger flung towards those in the know,
As sidelining deer watched with eyes gleaming,
Letting rest for a sec their suicidal scheming,
To see my mother and her blown-out hair,
Holler to the heavens a machine-gun prayer,
‘Till the walls started shaking with the force of her spunk,
And the hand on her hip positively stunk,
With the same righteous anger good Moses felt,
When he saw the lousy hand his brethren been dealt
By none other than dear old pop,
Watching souls suffer Styx, sick in the slop,
Just a rattling, cackling, shackling shock,
That started the greatest Egyptian rock,
Since Sternberg wrote an international liberation,
Of all those Greeks drifting out on vacation.
And when the dust finally settled over that podunk grave,
Fireflies ceased their epileptic rave,
Just floated and glowed like the eyes of a panther,
Shining down on faces sitting stricken in campers,
And nobody spoke for a couple days after,
And you can still smell perfume clinging to rafters,
And never again did some star-studded git,
Try their hand getting by with that skeevy schtick,
‘Cause you well know, much as any other,
There’s gods and demons, then there’s my mother.
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