Where The Sidewalk Ends (5 page)

When hunger makes you cry?

“I fix myself an omelet, sir.

Of fluffy clouds and sky.”

Oh what do you wear, poor Angus,

When winds blow down the hills?

“I sew myself a warm cloak, sir.

Of hope and daffodils.”

Oh who do you love, poor Angus,

When Catherine’s left the moor?

“Ah, then, sir, then’s the only time

I feel I’m really poor.”

WHAT
A
DAY

What a day,

Oh what a day.

My baby brother ran away,

And now my tuba will not play.

I’m eight years old

And turning grey,

Oh what a day.

Oh what a day.

MA
AND
GOD

God gave us fingers-Ma says, “Use your fork.”

God gave us voices-Ma says, “Don’t scream.”

Ma says eat broccoli, cereal and carrots.

But God gave us tasteys for maple ice cream.

God gave us fingers-Ma says, “Use your hanky.”

God gave us puddles-Ma says, “Don’t splash.”

Ma says, “Be quiet, your father is sleeping.”

But God gave us garbage can covers to crash.

God gave us fingers-Ma says, “Put your gloves on.”

God gave us raindrops-Ma says, “Don’t get wet.”

Ma says be careful, and don’t get too near to

Those strange lovely dogs that God gave us to pet.

God gave us fingers-Ma says, “Go wash ‘em.”

But God gave us coal bins and nice dirty bodies.

And I ain’t too smart, but there’s one thing for certain-

Either Ma’s wrong or else God is.

BANG-KLANG

I’m Big Barney Zang of the railroad gang.

My partner is Charlie O’Flynn.

And I hold the nails

For the big steel rails.

And Charlie, he hammers ‘em in.

And most of the time

He does just fine.

But now and again he fails.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll hammer ‘em in,

And let Charlie hold the nails.

TRAFFIC
LIGHT

The traffic light simply would not turn green

So the people stopped to wait

As the traffic rolled and the wind blew cold

And the hour grew dark and late.

Zoom-varoom, trucks, trailers.

Bikes and limousines,

Clatterin’ by-me oh my!

Won’t that light turn green?

But the days turned weeks, and the weeks turned months

And there on the corner they stood,

Twiddlin’ their thumbs till the changin’ comes

The way good people should.

And if you walk by that corner now.

You may think it’s rather strange

To see them there as they hopefully gaze

With the very same smile on their very same face

As they patiently stand in the very same place

And wait for the light to change.

ME-STEW

I have nothing to put in my stew, you see.

Not a bone or a bean or a black-eyed pea,

So I’ll just climb in the pot to see

If I can make a stew out of me.

I’ll put in some pepper and salt and I’ll sit

In the bubbling water-I won’t scream a bit.

I’ll sing while I simmer, I’ll smile while I’m stewing,

I’ll taste myself often to see how I’m doing.

I’ll stir me around with this big wooden spoon

And serve myself up at a quarter to noon.

So bring out your stew bowls.

You gobblers and snackers.

Farewell-and I hope you enjoy me with crackers!

DOUBLE-TAIL
DOG

Would you like to buy a dog with a tail at either end?

He is quite the strangest dog there is in town.

Though he’s not too good at knowing

Just exactly where he’s going.

He is very very good at sitting down.

He doesn’t have a place to put a collar.

And I’ll admit it’s rather hard to lead him.

And he cannot hear you call

For he has no ears at all.

But it doesn’t cost a single cent to feed him.

He cannot bite, he’ll never bark or growl,

Just scratch him on his tails, he’ll find it pleasing.

But you’ll have to take him out

For twice as many walks.

And I’ll bet that you can quickly guess the reason.

PAUL
BUNYAN

He rode through the woods on a big blue ox.

He had fists as hard as choppin’ blocks,

Five hundred pounds and nine feet tall… that’s Paul.

Talk about workin’, when he swung his axe

You could hear it ring for a mile and a half.

Then he’d yell “Timber!” and down she’d fall… for Paul.

Talk about drinkin’, that man’s so mean

That he’d never drink nothin’ but kerosene.

And a five-gallon can is a little bit small… for Paul.

Talk about tough, well he once had a fight

With a thunderstorm on a cold dark night.

I ain’t sayin’ who won.

But it don’t storm at all… ‘round here … thanks to Paul.

He was ninety years old when he said with a sigh,

“I think I’m gonna lay right down and die

‘Cause sunshine and sorrow, I’ve seen it all” … says Paul.

He says, “There ain’t no man alive can kill me.

Ain’t no woman ‘round can thrill me.

And I think heaven just might be a ball” … says Paul.

So he died … and we cried.

It took eighteen men just to bust the ground.

It took twenty-four more just to lower him down.

And we covered him up and we figured that was all… for Paul.

But late one night the trees started shakin’.

The dogs started howlin’ and the earth started quakin’,

And out of the ground with a “Hi, y’all” … come Paul!

He shook the dirt from off of his clothes.

He scratched his butt and he wiped his nose.

“Y’know, bein’ dead wasn’t no fun at all” … says Paul.

He says, “Up in heaven they got harps on their knees.

They got clouds and wings but they got no trees.

I don’t think that’s much of a heaven at all” … says Paul.

So he jumps on his ox with a fare-thee-well.

He says, “I’ll find out if they’s trees in hell.”

And he rode away, and that was all… we ever seen … of Paul.

But the next time you hear a “Timber!” yell

That sounds like it’s comin’ from the pits of hell,

Then a weird and devilish ghostly wail

Like somebody choppin’ on the devil’s tail.

Then a shout, a call, a crash, a fall-

That ain’t no mortal man at all… that’s Paul!

DANCING
PANTS

And now for the Dancing Pants,

Doing their fabulous dance.

From the seat to the pleat

They will bounce to the beat,

With no legs inside them

And no feet beneath.

They’ll whirl, and twirl, and jiggle and prance.

So just start the music

And give them a chance-

Let’s have a big hand for the wonderful, marvelous.

Super sensational, utterly fabulous.

Talented Dancing Pants!

I
WON’T
HATCH!

Oh I am a chickie who lives in an egg.

But I will not hatch, I will not hatch.

The hens they all cackle, the roosters all beg,

But I will not hatch, I will not hatch.

For I hear all the talk of pollution and war

As the people all shout and the airplanes roar.

So I’m staying in here where it’s safe and it’s warm.

And I
WILL
NOT
HATCH!

WITH
HIS
MOUTH
FULL
OF
FOOD

Milford Dupree, though he knew it was rude.

Talked with his mouth full of food.

He never would burp or walk out in the nude.

But he talked with his mouth full of food.

His mother said, “Milford, it’s crude and it’s lewd

To talk with your mouth full of food.

Why, even the milk cow who moo’d as she chewed

Never moo’d with her mouth full of food.

And the cuckoo would never have ever cuckoo’d

If he coo’d with his mouth full of food.”

His dad said, “Get married or go get tattooed.

But don’t talk with your mouth full of food.

If it was a crime, you would surely get sued

If you talked with your mouth full of food.

Why, just like an animal you should be zoo’d

As you talk with your mouth full of food.

For you know we’re all put in a terrible mood

When you talk with your mouth full of food.”

They pleaded and begged. He just giggled and chewed

And laughed with his mouth full of food.

And all they advised him he simply poo-poo’d,

He poo-poo’d with his mouth full of food.

So they sent for the gluer and had his mouth glued

‘Cause he talked with his mouth full of food.

Now instead of “Good morning,” he says “Gnu murnood,

I wun tuk win mny marf furu foog.”

MY
HOBBY

When you spit from the twenty-sixth floor.

And it floats on the breeze to the ground,

Does it fall upon hats

Or on white Persian cats

Or on heads, with a pitty-pat sound?

I used to think life was a bore.

But I don’t feel that way anymore.

As I count up the hits,

As I smile as I sit.

As I spit from the twenty-sixth floor.

INSTRUCTIONS

If you should ever choose

To bathe an armadillo,

Use one bar of soap

And a whole lot of hope

And seventy-two pads of Brillo.

THE
WORST

When singing songs of scariness.

Of bloodiness and hairyness,

I feel obligated at this moment to remind you

Of the most ferocious beast of all:

Three thousand pounds and nine feet tall-

The Glurpy Slurpy Skakagrall-

Who’s standing right behind you.

THE
BAGPIPE
WHO
DIDN’T
SAY
NO

It was nine o’clock at midnight at a quarter after three

When a turtle met a bagpipe on the shoreside by the sea.

And the turtle said, “My dearie.

May I sit with you? I’m weary.”

And the bagpipe didn’t say no.

Said the turtle to the bagpipe, “I have walked this lonely shore,

I have talked to waves and pebbles-but I’ve never loved before.

Will you marry me today, dear?

Is it ‘No’ you’re going to say, dear?”

But the bagpipe didn’t say no.

Said the turtle to his darling, “Please excuse me if I stare.

But you have the plaidest skin, dear.

And you have the strangest hair.

If I begged you pretty please, love.

Could I give you just one squeeze, love?”

And the bagpipe didn’t say no.

Said the turtle to the bagpipe, “Ah, you love me. Then confess!

Let me whisper in your dainty ear and hold you to my chest.”

And he cuddled her and teased her

And so lovingly he squeezed her.

And the bagpipe said, “Aaooga.”

Said the turtle to the bagpipe, “Did you honk or bray or neigh?

For ‘Aaooga’ when you’re kissed is such a heartless thing to say.

Is it that I have offended?

Is it that our love is ended?”

And the bagpipe didn’t say no.

Said the turtle to the bagpipe, “Shall I leave you, darling wife?

Shall I waddle off to Woedom? Shall I crawl out of your life?

Shall I move, depart and go, dear-

Oh, I beg you tell me ‘No,’ dear!”

But the bagpipe didn’t say no.

So the turtle crept off crying and he ne’er came back no more,

And he left the bagpipe lying on that smooth and sandy shore.

And some night when tide is low there.

Just walk up and say, “Hello, there,”

And politely ask the bagpipe if this story’s really so.

I assure you, darling children, that the bagpipe won’t say “No.”

RUDY
FELSH

Rudy Felsh

Knows how to belch

Better than anyone ever did.

Margo says that Rudy Felsh

Is a nasty vulgar kid.

Someday he will go to hell

Or jail or Canada, but now

Every night I pray that first

Rudy Felsh will show me how.

FRED?

From out of the cold Caribbean

Into the Desert Libyan

There crawled a strange amphibian.

And we shall call him “Fred.”

You say let’s call him “Ted”?

Or maybe “Lou” or “Jed”?

But I want to call him “Fred”!

You like “Maurice” instead?

Or “Barnaby” or “Red”

Or “Lucifer” or “Ned”?

Well, anyway, he’s dead.

THE
LONG-HAIRED
BOY

There was a boy in our town with long hair-

I mean really long hair-

And everybody pointed at him

And laughed at him

And made fun of him.

And when he walked down the street

The people would roar

And stick their tongues out

And make funny faces

And run in and slam their door

And shout at him from the window

Until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

So he sat down and cried

Till his whole body shook.

And pretty soon his hair shook too.

And it flapped

And flapped-

And he lifted-

And flew-

Straight up in the air like a helicopter.

Jenny Ricks saw him and dropped her

Knitting and screamed, “It’s a flying kid!”

Lukey Hastings ran and hid

Under Old Man Merrill’s car.

Miss Terance fainted, Henry Quist

Tried to shoot him down, but missed-

“I thought he was a crow,” he said.

And ‘round he sailed all through the day.

Smiling in the strangest way,