The Mayor of DanversA Poem by Damien ThibodeauxDr. Seuss, down on the farm...heh, heh, heh
The Mayor of Danvers
Welcome to the place, that drains lost souls Where curing the sickness is our main goal Behind these whitewashed and mortared walls Sanitized screams echo through these great halls
But nothing’s sanitized about these odors Come inside; I’m your host; I’ll give you the tour
This is the commons, where we spend our days The residents listen to music, garden and play There’s the marvelous, artistic Mrs. Philbin, finger painting the walls with her feces again
Over there in the wheelchair is crazy Bill Don’t mind him; he’s harmless, after his pills He wheels around asking the nurses for dates As he sits in his chair and just masturbates
Cover your ears, for Sarah’s shrill screams will burst your eardrums and haunt your dreams They strap on her jacket to take out some fight and take her for treatment - watch your hand, she bites
That line over there? That’s where we get our meds Now let me show you where we keep the beds
This way now, stay close; you’ll get lost if you stray I think there are lunatics down that way Unacceptable is their social behavior They are bad, bad, bad; they could be a danger
Take a peek, if you like, though watch where you’re steppin’ Oh, you will get used to the smell of urine
If you follow me now, I’ll take you to see where we perform pre-frontal lobotomy We have to be quiet as we descend down there We don’t want to get caught, we shouldn’t be here
I suspect your interests, I think you’ll agree is seeing some patients get shock therapy When I come down here, I always am wary It gives me the creeps; this place is scary
Here’s the mortuary, last stop for some flakes And the crematory where we hide the mistakes These people don’t matter, alone and defeated They’re used to the way they’re abused and mistreated
We’ll end our tour here, where I’ll leave you alone It’s our mass graveyard where we bury their bones
I’ll leave you with some concluding remarks While you’re still thinking we’ll let you depart We’ve been open for business since ‘74 1874 that is, shall I tell you some more?
There’s much history on these grounds where we stand For once they hung witches not far from this land I’ll pause for some questions before I must go Is there anything more that you’d like to know? What? Why am I here is what you dare ask? Never mind that; I’ll take you to task
The real question is why are you here? This place has been closed the last 25 years
© 2015 Damien ThibodeauxAuthor's Note
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Added on June 7, 2014Last Updated on September 18, 2015 AuthorDamien ThibodeauxAtlanta, GAAboutJust a poet and lyricist with a dark side. Left-Handed and Right-Minded ADD and OCD Inspired to write by Edgar Allan Poe. Hoping to rock you with a little deviance and southern gothic charm. .. more..Writing
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