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Monday, February 18, 2008
THE TIN CAN KING
He's breathing heavy, breathing hard,
But she's a carrot cake to bake,
And so the air does not get stirred,
No lightning flashes in the wake.
Untouched by their untouching,
His secret stuck between his hands
In the book that he was clutching.
Human figures appeared at once
At the ends of every street;
The king he vanished without a trace
In Sergeant Conlin's beat.
The cement bore weight of several cars,
With scores of eyes behind the glass;
But the king, his secret, was deep within
A quiet Catholic mass.
The tin can king confessed his sins,
His bitter race was won;
The man, he smiled at his wife.
The carrot cake was done.
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