Yippee...we made it to Friday once again!!! And here we are to embrace that loving gentle capper that greets us like a long lost relative! Time for another oldie but goldie poem of mine, that is enjoying a comeback of sorts. Please my dear readers, dear readers, always, always, enjoy!!!
Babyshoes’ Blues
I met this cat named Babyshoes who walked the streets at night with the biggest sack of blues I'd ever seen in this life.
Seems like Babyshoes had wimmin troubles.
Hell! We all do at one time or another.
Yeah man! Babyshoes cops the blues with rosy palm intact in fact almost every time I can think about it; he cops a feel between a rattle and a banana peel, sandwiched in the middle of two pegs, always a runny residue left on a plate of scrambled eggs, feelin' satisfied.
Seems that Jane, a woman half his age, drunk in pints, gave him the eye more than once in that juke joint he used to frequent.
So the story goes, she saunters up to his table, spread-eagles herself next to him and says, "Hey Babyshoes, feel like swingin' on the vine tonight with Jane?"
But Babyshoes' answer was always the same, "Why bother?"
He'd get his fill, lay back & holler, milk the old one-two and he'd be done in two squirts, like a shot of iron into his bloodstream.
He was such a lonely cat, that Babyshoes.
