George Thorogood And The Destroyer’s
“Bad To The Bone”

Mabel’s sweet thing went ding ding ding
in the echoes of confinement
and then she closed the door behind her.

Henry was aroused like Poe
holding Annabelle Lee
on his bearded knee,

some blackbird outside singing
for all he was worth
in Amboy Perth.

Mabel had a marvelous sea
that stood at small attention
when the boats came in the harbor,

her palm leaves fluttering on each shore,
the desert turning into a rainforest.
Henry smoked a cigarette,

poetry smoke-rings floating to the ceiling,
feelings replaced by solid feelings.
Mabel closed her eyes and slept.

She dreamed the pyramids were torn down,
stone by stone by stone
all the way down to the bone.