2/3/09

Princess Consuela Banana-Hammock

I met a girl, on the other side of the world;
she would just sit there and hum some blues,
all day long, holding her head in her hands,
looking for grains of sand, and tossing all the pearls;
she called herself
Princess Consuela Banana-Hammock,
and boy, did that ever roll off my tongue,
like maple syrup down the side of a stack,
took one look at her, and couldn't look back.

I asked her about her blues, she just smiled and
told me some rather happy news:
the world will end any day now, but it's okay,
because it won't be the world as we knew it;
and that made me think that her wisdom
blooms like a day-lily: easy on the eyes, but
it never comes out at night;
which turned out to be okay,
since I only ever saw her in the day.

I was a traveler with pigeons in his pants,
too much time to compose too many rants;
she was a girl who just hummed the blues,
and never gave me any reason to choose
between her daytime pearls of wisdom,
and the dark nights of my crowded prison;
which made it all the easier to just sit
and listen to her hum, and then to break out,
and start to sing, just for a little bit:

If, every time you reached for the brass ring,
you found it on fire:
well, eventually, your heart would have
less songs to sing;
you could become the town crier.

I met a girl, on the other side of the world,
and she is still sitting there, humming some blues,
all day long, with my head in her hands,
giving me grains of sand, and selling all the pearls;
she calls herself
Princess Consuela Banana-Hammock,
and boy, did she do a number on me,
left me swimming in a sea of uncertainty,
took one look at her, and couldn't let her be.

And I can still hear her breaking into song,
as all the wise men sing along:

If, every time your reached for the brass ring,
you found it on fire:
well, eventually, your heart would have
less songs to sing;
you could become the town crier.



February 3, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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