in a pear-tree

yummy apple pie

without any worms

to make you

dance the twist

naked in the

sunny back yard

with pesky ants

biting the bottoms

and other parts

in your shoes

Where they cavorted

sang and danced

leaning slightly to

hear the music

from under the

edge of your

large back porch

into the running

1957 green Chevy

impala like dad

had once crashed.

into a tree

climbing komodo dragon

with bad breath