WRITINGINTERRUPTUS

The Ballad of Jack Tallywack

By POOR WILLIAM

A True story, just now occurred, a mere several hours before DB press time. The nickname was, of course, made up, but just barely! Even the prurient are worthy of a literary nickname seeping with nobility and honor, particularly Deep Down South–all words should be capitalized, as Deep Down South is a proper noun.

All stanzas end in an exclamation mark or a question, because I like exclamation marks and questions–a lot, a whole lot–like to-infinity-and-beyond a lot!

 

While trying to write a whim, on Delta downtown tonight, I thought I heard Madge’s voice, quite a lover’s delight!

Madge, my bride of mythical proportions, whom I went outside to see, but mostly I ventured to see, if the Dude was still looking at me!

Whom might I see? But, the black guy looking at me. Why do you mention “black?” “Cause I named him Jack Tallywack!”

Yes, he was black, a distinctive feature it is, but mostly it’s a fact; and it rhymes with Jack Tallywack!

Poor William sho ain’t hatin’! He’s just playing the writing game. So, when he checks the street, black, white, they all the same!

Jack had been reported, grabbing his package now and then. But none had seen him wacking; the view was just too slim!

Plus, the wacker wore, nairy a thread up high. Yo, it means he’s shirtless! His drawers were all awry!

What makes this fellow; think I care to see, his old funky-ass drawers, nigh on mooning me?

Sure, the masturbation, or the potential therein, was nasty to imagine, maybe a venial sin!

But nothing is as nasty, as Tallywack displayed, as a young man’s undies, stained, tattered, and frayed!

Jack’s known to go shirtless, gives everyone the willies! So now Poor William’s judging? Shirtless sounds just like Poor Willie!

But Old Poor Willie placed, his troubles on a shelf, “cause everyone around him, knew he just couldn’t help hisself!”

Thinking just a bit more, Shameful Willie reached the shelf, taking back his troubles, maybe Jack can’t help his nasty-ass self!

Not wanting to more than nod, afraid something might appear, I wanted not to see him, would he not “like” disappear?

Then I heard the music, from just across the way, Stone Pony Pizza’s jamming, doing the yeast sachet!

Finally, it hits me; maybe this kid comes down, to hear something different, more a white-bread sound!

His life may be confusion, he may just want a rest, from whatever might ail him; it likely ails the rest!

Maybe he’s a prodigy, like seen on the big TV; maybe he’s an angel, looking out for me?

Maybe he’s a convict, not afraid to run? Maybe he’s a young dad, thinking about his son?

Maybe I should trust him, treat him like my kin? But surely I’ll be watchful, just “checkin’” ain’t a sin!

The Ballad of Jack Tallywack, has come to an end, and may old Jack Tallywack, not make his hand his friend!

Goodnight Clarksdale! PW

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