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Saturday, July 13, 2019

orange


by horace p sternwall




a little man woke up at dawn
and put his orange jumpsuit on
there was nothing more to say
it was his execution day

he sat behind the door of steel
and waited for his final meal
he hoped to find it to his taste
and the cook’s hard work not go to waste

there was a book beside his bed
a book that he had never read
the book’s title, if you please
was “the man with excellent qualities”


he had received it from a friend
when he thought his life would never end
and every brand new day would bring
loves to laugh at, songs to sing

every day the road would roll
toward a sunset with no goal
a smile would beam on every face
and nothing he did would leave a trace

he would be free as a bird
that was an expression he had heard
how free was a bird, anyway?
it might be hard to say

some day he would rule the planet
and be so great he could hardly stand it
win some nobel prizes in his spare time
and throw every bum a brand new dime

but somehow that day never dawned
he never put his best suit on
he never married the farmer’s or the boss’s daughter
he never walked on water

to work at mcdonalds he was too proud
he fell in with a bad crowd
but the glory days of bad crowds had passed
and they were brought real low real fast

after the shootout on highway fifty-five
when only he was left alive
the little man stood before judge smith
and said, let’s get this over with

and now the day had dawned
that most people greeted with a yawn
but he tried to put on a smile
and go out in style

but nobody paid any attention
or thought his demeanor was worth a mention
down the corridor he was led
a bag was put over his head

here the tape ends
that is all, my friends
some day your connection will fail
so take heed of this sad tale



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