When Tarzan Was Johnny Weismuller Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

My father was a well-known architect
of world-class reputation by the time
I became all sex and teen and as a reward
for turning not so sweet sixteen

I was bestowed my first legal motorized
locomotive. Following is the story
of connotations to my vast ego.
As far as I consciously remember I always

strived to be in print.
The first time I was I crashed my gas-driven
Mobility into a truck with me sliding between
the front and rear wheel.

I soon was pulled out from underneath
by a panicked couple of passersby whom
I comforted despite my leg bleeding
all over the macadam.

The next day my name was in print
In the local rag on the last page next to
the obituaries.
In my vivid imagination I was featured

on a cinema house marquee in glorious
glittering dazzling 2-feet tall letters:
Tarzan & Cheetah swing through a truck!
He survives but monkey dies.