I can tell that you don't believe me.
I can see that you think I'm some crackpot, some hare-brained loony.
Wouldn't wanna be you
when they get here.
All this, these fields, that shitty old house over there,
the well in the yard where we used to play Lindbergh kidnapping,
it's gonna be a paradise.
You think I'm just some old biddie.
I've got the inside dope!
The man, he's as handsome as a Fourth of July sunrise,
as muscled and graceful as a Kentucky Derby winner,
and if he kisses you, well, you're gonna fall backwards, healed.
The other one, nobody can tell if it's a man or a woman,
but oh what a voice. Never talks, just sings,
and the birds on every bush and fence post just shut up and take lessons.
One gonna sing. The other gonna lay on hands.
I seen this once before, in the forties. They made me young again,
then I got old again, so I hope they hurry up and get here.
You watch. There's never been anything like the golden duo.
They make cats crap out diamonds and dogs quote Shakespeare.
They'll make your mama tall like she wanna be,
And you? They could make you an astronaut or something fine like that.
You're already a brain 'cept for not believing me about the golden duo.
You wait. You watch. You're snotty quiet now, but when you spot 'em
You'll crow like a rooster and lay an egg, both. You can thank me then.
______
Co-written by Poetic Naychur Cat (me), and Baby Puppy (Mama Zen's daughter.)
