Today I gave my green couch a new pair of feet.
They’re made of steel, not warm wood or meat.
That’s why they’re cold, so I made him socks as well,
I slipped them on his metal paws and I could tell,
He really liked them; flashing a cushiony smile,
Stretched his tootsies and walked for a mile.
Shaun’s red socks as a gift to my couch,
Red ones go faster, so no way you can slouch.
The green of his cloth getting brighter in the sun,
A dust mite shower when he skipped and spun.
The sleepy coins in its bowels with a coppery yawn,
Came up for air and flexed their brawn.
A book’s worth of coins on a couch on a walk,
Doing press-ups like a silvery jock.
This was seen by a passing reporter,
And in a half hour, or just a quarter,
They were the stars of a mag of good feel:
“The new weight-loss secret for abs of steel!
Brought to you by our rock hard pros,
The mystery only the mineral-kind knows.”
The next step was a large talk-show circuit,
Telling Conan and pals just how and when to work it.
This new life was sweet for the cash,
They had made it, made it in a flash.
But it stopped with some abruption,
They got kidnapped by a tool of suction,
Invented by a crazed numismatist-innovator,
Just a collector, not jealous or a hater,
He stole the coins for his gratification,
Aberration coin-robbing our entire nation.
The couch, however, just kept on trucking,
While our thief, quite literally, keeps on sucking.