poem for open mic jill

Like Pomes? This a a powem I writ called Jill. Feel free to posit this saga at your local open mic.

Jill stares at you. Stares a few moments then "BAWWWKRK".

Jill is still hitting up her stainless steel mixing bowl. (BANG-Clank bump!)

Jill is a bulldog two years young, strong as a bowlin' ball and ever so dumb.

The dumb part doesn't hinder, how she get's her kicks,

voraciously eating kibble,

voraciously pooping on the bricks.

Jill is a snorting train wreck!

She likes the ball she likes her bowl.

She likes patrolling her lair.

But how she acts to the other dog

Can only be called unfair.

Dusty is a gentle heart and peaceful mellow soul.

He looks around with concern as Jill attacks the bowl.

He looks at me with sad eyes when Jill humps away at him.

Humpty dumpty is givin Dusty the hard sell again,

Jill sexually assaulting her friend is really messed up!

I tripped over myself just trying to break it up!

"Yo dawg! That's not cool!

Not cool at any time!"

Not only is it "frowned upon"

I'm pretty sure it's a crime!

10 min after I broke it up she was back to her humpy trick.

I needed to find an end to this, and find an end real quick!

"Knock it off woman, this is craziness!"

I didn't recognize my own words.

I usually don't like to raise my voice,

With swearing and canine slurs.

When she points her beady eyes at me,

All i see is catastrophe JILL!

Her black eyes brindle butt, jacked up grill like a piranha.

Big white head, all kinds of inbred,

This mug could scare her own Mama.

She is shorter than a wine bottle but very wide at the chest.

The dog is fast as lightning and never seems to rest,

Jill is a tiny one dog riot!

As I sit here she is going to town, beating up this mixing bowl.

It's her second favorite thing after humping a pit bull,

For hours now, it's all about, flinging it in the air

then shoving the down turned bowl across the floor wedging it under the chair.

Her hideous snout, it slams into a corner .

Then she lunges up attacking her toy

flinging ropes of spit in all directions.

grossing out my little boy, (BANG-Clank bump!)

Jill is a beast! A stinky, rude, calamity, (BANG!)

You can tell when she is around because I'm using profanity,

She is human nature's cruel mistake.

She ate the frosting, she ate the cake,

So why can't I stop smiling while looking at this thing?

What's wrong with me? Am I insane?

Is it her thousand mile an hour wagging tail, that looks like a chimpanzie penis?

Or the way she always wants to get between us?

Did i mention yeast builds up in the eye folds of this dog,

I had to clean it out with a surgical swab,

GROSS!

In our world I think all creatures fit,

But this one needs surgery to be born and comes with it's own haz-mat kit.

I gotta love that she outsmarted me though.

I thought I would be clever and put out the bowl,

Outside she shall play, so we could get some peace.

She didn't want to go but I begged her please!.

She ran outside, and caught her bowl, thrashing left and right,

Sending shrapnel of dog shit everywhere, into the freezing night,

Then she ran inside like she owns the place, into her warm house,

I was stuck cleaning dog poop (Some even got in my mouth)

She had caught me unaware, now she laughs at me from the top of the stairs.

JILL!

Around this dog, it never stops, it's never gonna be quiet,

Jill is a tiny behemoth who makes me scold her like a one dog riot!

Jill threw up jelly, Jill was a strain,

But I guess I would totally dog sit, Jill-zilla again.

(Pang- CLANK ROWFF!)

I stopped wearing cammo pants in 08

 I was about to host an open mic. 
I had my usual home-punk cowboy clown look going on. At this time in my life I was a clown in transition. Years of activist clown who was totally underground was suddenly very popular with everyone. I still had the look of the kind of clown who dumpster dives, rebels against authority and brawls a lot. I was in all intents an altruistic, good guy but I still had no clue how to be palatable to normal folks.My kid's Mom and most of my friends had left me after our Clown House had closed down. I was wide open to reinvent myself.
My friend gave me a ride to my gig that day. He was late so he ran out quick.
 I discovered that I accidentally left my phone in his car. He was gone to work so I lightly touched the door handle to see if by chance it could still be open. 
That's all the neighborhood eyes needed to see to immediately call the Police on me. I think it was the martial arts place across the street.
 The rollers rolled up and apprehended me after a long no chase. 
He searched me and asked what the story was.
I was suspicious after many years in the streets so I didn't give away too much info about anything. 
It was looking like i was going to the hoosegow until Da Man, asked "Where do you work?" 
I looked across the street and smiled for the first time. 
 "Across the street". 
"Can you prove it?" he asked as we both turned to see my face plastered on the glass of the cafe across the street. 
Same hat, same make up. The cop chuckled, put his book away "Carry on.". And I did carry on. 
Nowadays I break into cars all the time and never get bothered because I'm sharply dressed and also I'm always leaving things rather than taking stuff.

I stopped wearing cammo and black. It was a different chapter, different era and it was not good tactics to fly that kind of flag. True Clown Ops require stealth and smart tactics. All that cammo made me look more homeless than freedom fighter. 

Within a year I had transformed into the current situation. 

Play to win.

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