The Outlaw Paul

On New Year’s Day they led away
A man bent forth in shame.
The crowd’s demand forced him to stand
To prove that he’d been tamed.
Satisfied, the crowd relied on justice
And proclaimed,
“He’s our mistake! For Mankind’s sake,
We dread to speak his name:
The outlaw Paul!”

Go go go go GET OUT!
There’s a man in my house
Not a man but a rooster
Took my sister and seduced her
Like a hen in a barnyard pen in my house
My mother’s house

Not yours motherf***r
Dig her up I know you stuck her
You can’t keep me out
You can’t keep me out
I got your message just now
You foul beast on the prowl
You can’t keep me out
I know what you’re about

You can’t keep me out
It’s my house
My mother’s house
I’m on the next bus tonight
You stinking troglodyte
Here I come I’m on my way
I’m your wake up call today
I’ll be there in the morning if I have to hitchhike all night!

Stinking parasite, freaking troglodyte
I’m coming home.

I’M HOME!

I’m looking for the rooster
Took my sister and reduced her
To a secondary citizen
And a culinary specimen

HE’S ASLEEP? IN MY HOUSE?
IN MY MOTHER’S HOUSE!

Sister dear, I’m here
Where’s your little parasite?
I’ve been riding all night
Now I’m here
I brought a souvenir
It’s a Louisville slugger
Such a handy little bugger
Most effective on heads
See it bounce
I hope he likes it
It’s the thought that counts

(Lyrics and Music by Wayne Moon
Copyright 1992)

Yoga Fish

Fish yawn. At least mine does. Or maybe what I saw this morning was a silent scream for help. His water has been very cold lately. I don’t know how she’s survived this long. Also, I don’t know his sex. Her name is Betty. Or Bert. I keep her bowl by the kitchen window, where the air temperature plunges at night. So I’ve been wrapping my scarf around the fish bowl before I go to bed. But last night, I forgot. This morning, as I stood before the sink, gnashing my teeth over the dirty dinner dishes, Bert’s frozen eye caught mine. At first, I thought her liquid world had gone solid. Amidst the icy haze, Betty seemed lost in thought. His gills and fins were still. I shrugged and went about my business, intending to leave the corpse for my wife to dispose after I’d left for work. Retrieving a cereal bowl from the depths of the dishwater, I disturbed a large pot, upending its lid and creating a ruckus. Already forgetting Betty’s perceived fate, I apologetically glanced toward him. In that instant, she ruffled her feathery fins, turned to face me, then gave me his profile again. And yawned.

I’m told that gills consist of blood-filled filaments. When fish pump water across their gills, CO2 is released and O2 is absorbed. When a fish yawns, it forces water to backwash across its gills, cleaning off whatever might be blocking the filaments. Also, sometimes fish yawn to stretch their gills. You know, just to stretch. Who doesn’t like a good stretch?