She arrove in cartoon suddenness,
impolitely blasting sideways.
All shade and hope of dry was flung
from hand by soppering fiends,
my shield-stick cotton-jonny'ed,
gaily tossed from sight.
What really twast my tat was him,
hung there gurning lumine grin.
Shoes, mugged of shape and form the
cumulohoodlums
cheesed it. Leaving the starball mirthed,
hydrogen belching, worshipped,
dragging a fist of crayons
on his bedroom wall.
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