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Almost, Almost, Almost
Out Of The Woodwork V
© June 28, 2006 by Gary E. Andrews
All Right Reserved for the Globe

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I met a girl in a terrible fix.
The world found out
She could do tricks,
With her eyes and ears
and mouth and nose,
She said.

"They keep tryin' to tear my clothes!
Yesterday I got a bloody nose,
Just tryin' to keep my hat upon my head.
I wake up in the mornin'
and they still ain't gone,
Try to get in my car,
And floow me home.
Sometimes a girl just
needs to be alone," She said.
"So can ya' help me
figure this out?"

I said, "Maybe."
'Cause I had my doubts.
She took me in
and sat me on the bed.
I said, "So show me
these alleged tricks."
She ran through four
or five or six.
I said, "I see
what your problem is.
You need to stay out
of bars and zoons,
Away from animals
and booze.
Keep these tricks twixt
me and you
and the bedpost."
I asked her,
"Do ya' know,
what I mean?
'Cause if ya' don't
you'd best come clean."

She nodded once,
blinked twice and said,
"Almost. Almost. Almost."

Well things went alright
for a while,
'til one day
she awoke with a smile,
Said, "I'll be back,
In a little while."
She came home.
The sun had set.
I said, "Where's your hat?
Who's your friend?
Honey, where the hell
have you been?"

She smiled.

She said,
"I met a guy
who knew a guy
who owned a bar
with two glass eyes.
How was I to know
he had a pet crocodile?
He asked if I
liked things with wings,
Raccoons with tails with rings,
And had I ever seen
an eagle smile?"

I said, "Did ya' show 'im
your magic tricks?"
especially worried

bout number six.
"The ones you were gonna
keep betwixt
me and you and the bedpost?
She dropped her eyes,
couldn't look at me.
P'inted at ther bruis'ed knees,
and said,
"Almost. Almost. Almost."

Last time I saw her
she was down in the dumps,
Sittin' in the swamp
on a cypress stump,
Ruing the fact
she'd lost her pumps in the mud.
Said she got into a scuffle
with the sheriff in town.
He hollered at 'er.
She knocked him down.
Didn't think she ought to
hang around
with all that blood.

I see 'er hitchikin'.
I give 'er a lift.
I still enjoy
her enchanting gifts.
I just wish she'd a'
kept them betwixt
she and me and the bedpost.
She's the one that got away,
I guess I'll always rue the day.
The only thing that leaves to say, is
Almost. Almost. Almost.

Now the moral of this story,
Seems like it ought to have one,
Is don't go for the glory,
No matter how much fun,
No matter how pretty,
Or how good 'it' is,
Somewhere there's somebody
Who's had enough of her shit.

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Almost, Almost, Almost © June 28, 2006 by Gary E. Andrews
All Rights Reserved For The Globe