Never forget the fella
who sits after M, before O,
without him, my friend, you’d be fried,
all things nice would feel like ice: cold.
Happy sand would be sad,
every band would be bad,
and bananas, like sheep,
simply baaa.
So respect that letter,
just one past halfway,
who keeps windows from being widows,
everywhere, everyday.
When an old forgotten pen
in a pocket is discovered
A fresh opportunity
has been uncovered,
To unlock and empty
the full idea cage
Onto an endlessly
possible page,
To draw a new door
Where before none had been,
Such a find is more precious than
Finding a ten.
Younger than young
Are chickens in eggs
So young, in fact,
They have shells for legs
And though they roll crooked
That’s finer than fine:
Most goings are baby steps
In crooked lines.
We kids wanted to open
A lemonade stand
Smack dab on the corner
Of Flagstaff and Grand.
But when we arrived,
Supplies all in tow,
Right there on our spot
Was a telephone pole.
Should we relocate?
Give up our plan?
Set up mid-Flagstaff?
Or further down Grand?
No way, we kids said.
That corner’s our goal.
So what if they just….
Moved the telephone pole?
Could that even happen?
Not if we don’t ask,
We agreed then proceeded
To take on the task.
We filled out the forms
Began a petition:
“The Lemonade Kids
Seek Pole Reposition.”
We carried the papers
To City Hall
“This isn’t a thing
we’ve considered at all,”
Said the Receptionist,
Mayor and Clerk.
“Well, I have!” said the Bureau Chief
Of Lemon Work.
“Lemonade was around
long before those phone wires –
which the need for, admit it,
will quite soon expire.
“Look to the future,
These kids are our link!
Invest in their vision:
Wireless lemon drink!”
The Receptionist, Mayor
And Clerk were dumbfounded.
And though trying to hide it,
We kids were astounded.
Our once barely crawling
Lemonade stand
Suddenly had grown legs,
Sprung up and ran.
With a stamp and a seal
And a chorus of “Aye!”s
Our motion was granted
Right before our eyes.
What-if became why became how then
KAPOW!
On the corner of Flagstaff and Grand
We sell now,
Where that telephone pole
Did not go to waste,
After we chopped it up
Into seats for our place.
A place people stop
To sip a cool drink
And to hear the old tale
Of the Lemonade Link.
The life of Peter Cottontail
Would not have been the same
If Leather was the fabric
At the start of his last name.
Imagine Naugahyde or Burlap
Where “Cotton”’s always been
And how Pete’s kid-soft-lap-snapshot-biz
That would so badly spin.
How would Pete be received as
Satintail or Denimtail?
Would then on a motorbike
He ride the bunny trail?
If those pastel egg deliveries
Came from Peter Polyester,
Around Easter lots of sketchy feels
Might every springtime fester.
Yes, the life and times he’s mastered
Might have truly faltered
If Peter Cottontail’s old tailor
His name even slightly altered.
Click on the image below to view a Steller Story version of the story
“Johnnycorkbrains Lost His Cup of Tea!”
Tweed Typewriter 