Charles Barkley and I Find Salvation on a Tilt-A-Whirl
Somewhere in Alabama
by Francine DuBois
I spin, I spin, around, around
And close my eyes
And no bile does arise
From the pudgy Round Mound of Rebound;
The ride ends and we are borne again:
And relive and re-feel,
And let forth a little squeal.
If we enjoy this much, is it a sin?
Does God mind if we spin as a wheel?
Methinks Chuck shan't keep his meal
If we keep this up much more,
Pulling Gs the way the nervous
Bite their frantic nails.
And this is how we reach God,
A Sit 'n' Spin for a child's prayer,
A Tilt-a-Whirl for Papa Bear.
Only the dizzy reach God's lair.
So this is heaven,
Plunged into Charles' side,
No oxygen with which to cry
"Praise Him!" to angels we have heard on high.
Right in my navel I can sense
Jesus breaching the distance.
We are getting closer with each spin
Whirling ceaselessly towards the king
Of all, not Elvis, but the God
So powerful and proud.
My Marshmallow Peeps are Kreme;
Chuck has pork-chop logic now.
This is not a dream,
But a desperate need to do it again - and how!
Count the spins on the old oak tree.
Spin we only one time? Nay! Thirty-three!
We become addicted to God
The way Anna Karina loves all that's mod,
The way children clutch their candy
And alcoholics their brandy.
Dervishes are cool. http://www.bartleby.com/236/186.html
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