Furniture hospital

Here at the hospital we take care of beds,

Chairs, tables, shelves forgotten in sheds.

Here, for example, is a sofa we found

Abandoned near the main underground.

As you can see, the leather is peeling

Its legs are broken, lacking any feeling.

The plan of action is to make prosthetics

And a leather transplant with anesthetics.

Then, a recuperatory period takes place

Finally, released to the wild, if it doesn’t face

Any complications while it’s healing.

This is the stuff with what we’re dealing.

Everyday miracles for abandoned pieces

Of furniture covered in grime and greases.

For a positive ending, you can pet this chair

Hear it purr as you stroke its hair.

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Gold rush coroner

In the gold rush days of yore

Were, well, let’s just say, not a bore.

No law, no police no civilization,

Far in the wilds, death and starvation.

The stories they told of how people died

Did not hold water, I think mostly they lied.

Some are hilarious, they just make no sense,

Like this one assumes that the hearer is dense:

“A person found dead in the river in the vale

Cause of death: drowning, sex: male.”

(Makes sense so far, not much to it,

But hear what comes next to see what doesn’t fit.)

“Cause of drowning: a bullet hole in the head,

That made him fall down and he drownded dead.”

Now, I’m not a doctor, but a headshot might,

Be the actual reason why he did bite

The dust as he did, I’m just saying:

Somebody over there did some pretty foul playing.

The lamp in the fog

There’s a lone street lamp somewhere in the fog.

Lighting the way through the murderous bog.

Without it everyone would be hopelessly lost,

Dead in the swamp, covered by frost.

The lamp is famous, loved by all,

Travelers obey its luminous call.

The lives it saves too numerous to count

Shames the Grim Reaper, making him dismount.

The lone street lamp, always alight,

Was brought down due to one man’s spite.

The emperor of La La Land was on his way

Through the deadly swamp on a very sunny day.

Thinking, like emperors are wont to do,

Of his own magnificence, not of me or you.

Completely lost in these enticing thoughts

He collided with the lamp while dreaming of yachts.

Irately proclaimed it had no business there

With the weather so sunny and clear as air.

With some men with unrefined hands

Ensured the life-saving lamp no longer stands,

The emperor was not pleased, men like him never are.

Travelers no more return without the guiding star.

Timber florist

Stealing wood from the government forest,

Feeling like a timber florist.

In the middle of nowhere with no one to see

I won’t be caught when I work like a bee.

Hey Mr. Oak, meet Mr. Chainsaw.

He’s a nice guy with only one flaw.

He’ll cut you up into pieces by the foot

Later: meet Mr. Oven, turn into soot.

Stealing wood from government land,

So I won’t freeze my toe or hand

When I sit one the sofa in March,

Under my roof, an oaken arch.

A highly polite bee

Today I learned that bees are polite.

The epiphany came in the middle of the night.

I heard my doorbell on the way to my bed,

“That’s a bit late” is what I thought and said.

I went down and opened the door,

And all I saw was darkness and hoar.

I thought a prankster had paid me a visit.

I thought “That ain’t fun, not at all, now is it?”

Then I saw the bumbliest bee

Floating in mid-air and glancing at me

And at the doorbell and at me again.

Five and a half minutes later was when

I gathered the plot of what’d taken place

The bee had buzzed so it could enter my base.

I didn’t wonder, the nights get cold,

So this voiceless dealer had me sold.

I preferred this to just barging in,

So enter it could, welcome within.

I prepared a plate with a drop of honey,

It had a sip and it looked at me funny.

Followed me as I went back to the bed

And lay down next to me as I read

The tales of Pooh bear’s and Piglet’s fright.

It lay quiet and listened, quite polite.

Contract killer

“Let me take a drag beforehand to look cooler.”

 

I don’t work for cheap, that’s true.

But I get the job done, and done well too.

There’s an idea and it’d be good if it dies?

Arrange the payment and close your eyes.

How do I work? You don’t want to know

Just describe the target and cough up the dough.

It’s one of yours? Well that’s a first.

You want to live your passion, lifelong nursed,

Of traveling the world and painting with oil

To avoid the rat race and mind-numbing toil?

Alright, I see, this won’t take long.

Just kick back and relax, we can’t go wrong.

I will now come closer and whisper some words

They will kill the idea of being free as birds.

Listen closely and listen well, sonny:

“With this idea you can’t make money.”

Now it’s dead, put the payment in the pot

As agreed, 15 gummy bears, fresh and hot.

Have a nice life, son, and do come back

If you ever fall off the too-well-beaten track.

Child Preservation Zone

I thought about a sand pit, and what it is,

The conclusion I ended up with was this:

A sand pit is a child preservation zone,

CPZA approved, not accident-prone.

A place where the children turn golden brown,

Don’t get spoilt while you’re out on the town.

CPZA (Child preservation zone association)

Has a list of zones with a bad causation.

For example a lake is a bad CPZ.

The small ones get spoilt, turn blue, you see.

A library’s another, too many books.

They cause questions in unending brooks.

You can’t predict where their minds will go,

Your control broken by the information flow.

The good ones are, of course, all traditional,

Churches and schools, benefits unconditional.

Obedience and politeness, the two main aspects

Of our beloved, precious, dear future subjects.

And no one ever heard anything bad taking place

In these bastions of impeccable manners and grace.