Shrimp Festival Explosions Poem by chris bowen

people shuffle, move the buckle of your belt, all those shrimp will be felt.me i melt at cheese on these, whatever these are.your a star in the court, if you wanna retort, wear your shorts.mork and mindy might be seen, and although i dream and mean many things, mickey mouse cant touch me.love me magic in a fireworks sky, oh little baby dont close your eyes.your city fathers went through quite a bother to wrangle some pink and blue angled explosions just over the river made of the ocean.the dough in the pizza is good, everybody would hit the hut but i already got pizza in my gut.shut my door its late, people walk by and i quake.it may be too late for steak, looks like mcdonalds.all the while in the round of ronald's.