A Mad Rollin' Night Spent With The Reservoir Dolls Poem by James P. Roberts

When the first star appeared I went
ANYA KNEES and prayed to the Lord
to CLARA PATH through this sweltering
HEAT like a DUTCH OVEN. In the meadow
before me, a MOUSE scampered, trying
to evade the owl ANA KILLINGSPREE.
When the owl sees another creature
SPROUTIN' A TAIL, it takes off like
a certain baseball player named
CHARLIE HUSTLE, zooms past a rocky ledge
etched in ROSETTA STONED caveman glyphs.

Later, the moon rises, revealing
the night's SHANANAGUNS, the air blasted
with a STENCH WENCH redolent of old
BUSTA CRIMES gone unpunished. Mouthing
LITTLE BO BLEEPS, I endure PAINE in my
MANLY FIELD, now searching for the ghost
of my LADIE WHO-HA as she
knocks, knocks, knocks so intently
like a REBEL WITH A CAUSE, playing with
the KEY to her SWEET SUZY SUITE.
My GENES arise from a shorn grass LANE
and when morning finally comes
I realize that I have been PRETTY RECKLESS.
Will someone come to BREAK me out of JAIL?