Monday, April 15, 2013

Magic 8-Ball

I grasped the Magic 8-Ball
And asked it if I should
Pen a verse about its charms
It told me, “Outlook good”

So here is a rhyme, a poem
Of assured obscurity
About that sooth-saying oracle
From Milton Bradley

I started asking questions
And it put on a show
Me: Will I hit the lottery?
It: My reply is no.

So I asked it other questions
Me, speculating if I ever could
Grow back my head of golden hair
And it said, “Outlook good”

Now according to the 8-Ball
I will not hit the lottery
But as consolation my hair grows back
Not too shabby, mon ami

So I thought I’d bump it up a notch
I’d thrown softballs the whole time
Well now I’d throw some curve balls too
The answers should be sublime

"Magic 8-Ball, why is there suffering
And justice disavowed
Why hatred, greed, & homelessness?"
It said it, “Could not answer now”

Now the manufactures warranty
Won’t cover such misuse
I must confine to “Yes” or “No”
Not questions so obtuse

So I put the 8-Ball on the self
The oracle does not care
I guess I’ll just keep searching
For answers found elsewhere 

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