Antiparliamentarian; who me?
You'll never find that in the words I speak.
A rhyming poem he says he wants to see,
but using words like that could make me shriek.

Eight syllables, is in that bloody word.
A word like that is truly just absurd.



Grab that bazooka.
Shoot that man? Oh no!
I'd never shoot that kind, resplendent soul.
It's words like that which make our language grow.
(She rolls her eyes while seeking a loophole.)

I think I'll take a turn down Wacky Road
where you'll see me, zecchino on my clothes,
that's why I'm writing poetry not prose
(except I've never, ever mastered odes).



No ground is underneath these hurting feet,
I'm in the air with cotton candy clouds
(those clouds are truly gooey, sickly sweet
and keep me from those quite rambunctious crowds).

You know I'm really better off the ground.
What's that? You're yawning? Stop that awful frown.
Oh my gosh!
Was that a gastric sound?
Okay, I'm finished. I will take my crown!