When I was just a little lad
That's right, not very old
I had my misadventures
Though not so very bold
But at the end of each full day
I wound up in my bed
On my drool stained pillow
I would rest my head
I had a real cool bunkbed
Every day I slept up high
It made my mother nervous
She thought that I might die
There’s one night that stands out
The one I most remember
It happened long ago you see
In a cold, dark November
I settled down and went to sleep
In the normal way
I fell quickly into slumber
After a long day
In the night, I woke with start
Could tell not all was right
I could feel a presence there
Something crept in, in the night
Peeking over my wood railing
I witnessed a strange sight
a man was kneeling on the floor
I had a dreadful fright
And in the midst of choking fear
My voice died in my throat
A grey haired man was working there
In a dark trench coat
The time it seemed to stretch out
Each minute felt an hour
While he was worked on there below
All I could do was cower
I watched the grey head turning
It seemed that on occasion
The steely jaw was lifted and
Looked in my direction
On and on he toiled away
For what I did not know
Then I realized a bomb, that’s it!
He’s setting it to blow!
Then as that thought did come to me
I felt sound might come out
My voice did then ring loud
But what came out was “Halp!”
Much to my confusion then
The man he did not move
There really is a villain there
I need this fact to prove
My mother’s voice and feet I heard
Racing down the hall
In all my heartfelt gratefulness
I thought I just might bawl
My bedroom door burst open
Bright flashed on the light
The invader was my punching bag
Imagine my delight
A bad dream’s what I said to her
As she was walking out
She turned around and asked me then
What did you mean by “Halp?”
Ken Goree
Strangely, this is a true story, every bit of it. I had a punching bag that my parents had bought me the previous Christmas. It was the type that you stand on a board that has a pole sticking up from one end. On top of the pole is an inflatable plastic ball that you punch. I don’t think they make them anymore. I’m sure countless children have lost teeth to that merciless ball that hits back harder than you hit it. Somehow, Voit figured out how to thwart the laws of physics. I really thought there was a grey-haired man (the ball on the punching bag was white, which looked grey in the dark) was setting a bomb in the middle of my floor. In my imagination, I could just see him look up occasionally. And yes, I did scream out, “Halp.”
That's right, not very old
I had my misadventures
Though not so very bold
But at the end of each full day
I wound up in my bed
On my drool stained pillow
I would rest my head
I had a real cool bunkbed
Every day I slept up high
It made my mother nervous
She thought that I might die
There’s one night that stands out
The one I most remember
It happened long ago you see
In a cold, dark November
I settled down and went to sleep
In the normal way
I fell quickly into slumber
After a long day
In the night, I woke with start
Could tell not all was right
I could feel a presence there
Something crept in, in the night
Peeking over my wood railing
I witnessed a strange sight
a man was kneeling on the floor
I had a dreadful fright
And in the midst of choking fear
My voice died in my throat
A grey haired man was working there
In a dark trench coat
The time it seemed to stretch out
Each minute felt an hour
While he was worked on there below
All I could do was cower
I watched the grey head turning
It seemed that on occasion
The steely jaw was lifted and
Looked in my direction
On and on he toiled away
For what I did not know
Then I realized a bomb, that’s it!
He’s setting it to blow!
Then as that thought did come to me
I felt sound might come out
My voice did then ring loud
But what came out was “Halp!”
Much to my confusion then
The man he did not move
There really is a villain there
I need this fact to prove
My mother’s voice and feet I heard
Racing down the hall
In all my heartfelt gratefulness
I thought I just might bawl
My bedroom door burst open
Bright flashed on the light
The invader was my punching bag
Imagine my delight
A bad dream’s what I said to her
As she was walking out
She turned around and asked me then
What did you mean by “Halp?”
Ken Goree
Strangely, this is a true story, every bit of it. I had a punching bag that my parents had bought me the previous Christmas. It was the type that you stand on a board that has a pole sticking up from one end. On top of the pole is an inflatable plastic ball that you punch. I don’t think they make them anymore. I’m sure countless children have lost teeth to that merciless ball that hits back harder than you hit it. Somehow, Voit figured out how to thwart the laws of physics. I really thought there was a grey-haired man (the ball on the punching bag was white, which looked grey in the dark) was setting a bomb in the middle of my floor. In my imagination, I could just see him look up occasionally. And yes, I did scream out, “Halp.”
No comments:
Post a Comment