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Post-Modern Plan

The train puffs out the smoke,
Which to me is an anecdote,
And those Saturday night specials,
Can put you in a trench coat.
Chill the blood,
For those who are too hot,
Get out of the sun,
To find a real cool spot.
King of my domain,
Or crowned prince of the age,
It's like a moving portrait,
Or like a happy parade.
The idea of the wheel,
Can't be made any better,
So go your new tires,
To get through the bad weather.
Truth against the world,
Go think out of the box,
Be a good thinker,
And be cunning like a fox.
Station identification,
T.V., the great wasteland,
It's good to read more books,
And get with the post-modern plan.

©1999-2018 Steve Bujanow

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