Ripping Off a Whiny Song

A three pronged hat and a tin roof
sunday ice cream strolling
in Central Park, a chapeau
and a fatty dairy product,
it's true, but what were
the chances, of them strolling
in Central Park.

Come to me in a satin scarf
and robes of milky cream.
Come to me and listen
to my ditherings, my digressions,
commas, quotes and quid pro quos.
Six thousand words I have scribbled
with a million, trillion, gazillion
to follow. Hanging clauses,
compound sentences without
a pound, raw, unfinished.

If you came to me
in the hollow honeydew
haze, you would scare away
the spider webs of Easter egg
shadows and render me
a loquacious fool with your
enchanting cantations.

One for puppies and two
for pain. Another for love
and three for flying angels
raining fairy dust and subjunctives.
I am counting crayons,
each one a different color.