JET FUEL FOLDEROL
I asked my fortune teller
She's a real know it all
I built myself an airplane
Is it in your crystal ball
I need some jet fuel money
To make it to Montreal
Do you foresee a wind shear
Or a nice windfall
My plane's on the runway
The tower's not enthralled
Got clearance to taxi
But this baby doesn't crawl
Once I get her airborne
I'll never let her stall
If I could get some jet fuel
I'd rise above it all
Mr. Revolving Doorman
Let me make a real close call
He hands me an autographed
Copy of a knuckleball
Try to read the signature
Can't make out the scrawl
Hails a yellow cab
It was signed by A Wharhol
I sashay in the taxi
The driver from Nepal
Said that in his other life
He chauffeured for Chagal
We tuned in the game
The traffic Neanderthal
Too bad we couldn't see
The bench clearing brawl
My ride's on the launch pad
This rockets pretty tall
To get you to the top
They drive you up the wall
I barely heard 'ignition'
In that apprehensive drawl
A rocker's worst perdition
Is to have his ears mothballed
Like forgotten Spacemen
Who don't look down at all
I never think about it
What comes before a fall
I used to mix my metaphors
And splash them on the wall
Now I just extend them
With some jet stream aerosol
Mr. Poet
Your writing's on the ball
You know it's so exciting
To rise above it all
I went to see my brother
He scratched on the eight ball
When asked for jet fuel money
He said "You've got some gall
The way I made my fortune
The way I lost it all
Was to start by robbing Robert
Then rob Bert and Pete and Paul"
This pilot's not the kind
To abandon protocol
I'm talkin of pure octane
Not drugs and alcohol
I go easy on the intake
And watch the cholesterol
I can't talk of my condition
Without sounding quite banal
My song was getting lengthy
But I couldn't end it all
With solitary rhyme scheme
I strained my wherewithal
I used to shadow box
With the bare bulbs in the hall
But that's all behind me
My back's against the wall
Mr. Poet
Your writing's on the ball
You know it's so exciting
To rise above it all
The captain had us sweating
He tried to scare us all
"I forgot the parachutes
So take these parasols"
The puffed up Auto Pilot
He loved a living doll
When she burst his bubble
That old windbag went AWOL
Like frogs on the freeway
Each hop has gotta haul
Far too few will stop for you
When headed for the mall
You can be the steamroller
That paves the urban sprawl
Or be the rare flower
That withstands a mighty squal
Approaching the millennium
Which one I don't recall
I added on this envoy
To this folderol
At last I tipped the cabby
Not enough for Taj Mahal
He just coined the phrase
"Mr. Poet ya left out 'small'"
© 1996 Stefan des Lauriers