I lost my red folder
With all of my poems in it
And I dunno what to do
Dunno where I might have
Left it
In the library…
Nope I haven’t been to
The library
In ten years
In the sweet shop…
Not unless I swapped it for
A pack of cigarettes
At the internet cafe…
At the internet cafe
So that means
Some middle-aged so-and-so
Will be reading the damn thing
‘Til they’re left
Blue in the face
Actually that’s not such a bad thing
What if he/she turns out to be
A publisher
Not like the last one I hope
If that’s the case
She can go jump with a rope
Or maybe some hot bird found it
And she likes the
Cut of my jib
The cut of my jib!
Who says that anymore
The hot bird who’s holding onto
My red folder with all of my poems in it
Maybe she’s Russian
And poetry’s her thing
Reading about funny things
Going on about the place
Has to be a better fix for her
Than hearing about
The war
Now I’m imagining a hot Russian bird
Holding onto my red folder
With all of my poems in it
And that’s a pretty good place to be
Gonna put on some nice clothes
And collect my red folder
Knowing my luck
She’ll be married to a famous writer named Chuck
Some fella’s have all the luck