Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Fifty Thousand Moons: The Big Papi Farewell Poem

We will moon him from the bleachers.
We will moon him from the stands.
He will think our butts strange creatures
From some weird exotic lands.

We will moon him from the boxes,
Where the richest are assigned.
Full autumnal equinoxes,
Fifty-thousand grand behinds.

We will moon him from the upper decks,
Way up there in the sky,
He'll see fifty-thousand hammy specks,
Each moonbeam shouting, "Bye!"

We'll moon Big Papi all the night,
Show all our nooks and crannies.
Into his brain we'll burn the sight
Of fifty thousand fannies.

We will moon him in the lower tiers,
Where cheeks doth shine quite proudly,
We'll moon him as we sip our beers,
And often, farting loudly.

We will go down in the hist'ry book,
Our tickets will be keepsakes!
We'll never know a greater look
Than fifty-thousand beefcakes.

We'll moon him at that certain time,
When Papi waves, "Goodbye now."
No cop shall charge us with a crime,
He'll merely wink an eyebrow.

We'll moon him for posterity!
To show the world what's right,
Though some will cry, "Vulgarity!"
They'll know we won the night.

O, it shall be one glorious scene!
A gathering of the masses!
No greater use shall e'r have been,
For fifty-thousand asses.


Local Bargain Jerk said...

Oh. My. God.

My hat is off to you, O Bard of Syracuse.

That brought a mirthful tear to my eye.

I need to step away and compose myself so that I might resume my workday.


Ken of Brooklyn said...


Anonymous said...