Norah A. Burns

A Crooked Man

About a Louisiana man of the church I once crossed paths with.

 

I once knew a crooked man,

whose feeble mind stumbled over a crooked plan.

He lived in a crooked house,

ironically controlled by his crooked spouse.

She was a painfully skinny crooked wife,

they lived a shamefully crooked life.

And they yearned for crooked wealth,

above all they’re crooked else.

 

This man traveled a crooked path,

And had an eerily crooked laugh.

He was committed to thinking

Simple crooked thoughts,

With nary a consideration of non-crooked plots.

 

Now this crooked man leads a

little crooked church.

Misdirecting unsuspecting followers

with his sadly crooked search.

And with his crooked tongue,

he preaches his crooked word.

As his crooked wife sits in front,

under a big red hat that looks crookedly absurd.

 

They demand they’re crooked collection,

in an embarrassingly deceitful

exchange for his crooked affection.

 

But not too soon do his crooked intentions

rise to the surface,

That his crooked plan incinerates

his dastardly crooked place of worship.