It Wasn’t My Fault

27 Jul

Cousin Tommy is recovering quite nicely, thanks.
I’ve warned him about his childish pranks,
but he listens to very few words of advice,
he sets his own course and never thinks twice.
So, my uncle Aubrey wasn’t surprised
when he discovered Tommy in a string of lies.
Tommy insisted he was not to blame,
he knew nothing about the suspicious flames
that burned a field of sweet, white corn.
“I swear,” he said, “on the day I was born
that somebody else did this terrible act,
and I’ll tell you what, as a matter of fact,
I have a witness to prove what I say,
then Tommy turned and looked my way.

I wasn’t about to lie for him,
but without my word, his chances were slim.
The field belonged to Chester Malone,
whose son is as mean as Al Capone.
When the young Malone heard about the fire,
he let it be known that his one desire
was to find the culprit who caused this blaze
and see how far his fist could raise
this you-know-what off the ground.
Two days later, Cousin Tommy was found.

I won’t describe the exact details,
but what Malone did sent him to jail
and Tommy to old Doctor Pendergrass
where he got ten stitches and a right arm cast.
But like I said, Cousin Tommy is strong
and he’ll never admit he was wrong.
“Just one of those things,” he’ll probably say
when a funny prank went astray.
But I heard a rumor just last night
that Tommy bought a ticket to a Martial Arts site
where he’ll learn the art of Jujitsu,
then when Malone’s jail time is through
they’ll meet up in the parking lot,
a very open, public spot
and settle their differences like loving brothers.
But neither will turn his back on the other.
Cousin Tommy will never learn.

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