The sun was bright, the sky was blue,
But Malcolm didn’t share the view.
He walked with steps both stiff and strange,
Like someone seeking a mountain range,
Or someone hiding a secret quest
Within the trousers of his best.
It started small, a tiny tickle,
A minor, localized prickly pickle.
But soon it grew, a fiery dance,
A phantom scratching inside his pants.
He tried the "Wiggle," then the "Slide,"
With nowhere left for a man to hide.
He leaned against a brickwork wall,
To give the area a subtle haul.
He did a shimmy, he did a quake,
Like a very nervous, upright snake.
He feigned a stretch, a rhythmic lunge,
To give that itch a desperate sponge.
"Is it the laundry? Is it the spice?
Did I not rinse the cycle twice?"
The questions swirled within his head,
While his dignity hung by a single thread.
He looked to the left, he looked to the right,
Then ducked behind a bush, out of sight.
With a sigh of relief and a frantic hand,
He reclaimed peace in the Promised Land.
The crisis passed, the storm was still,
He walked back up the grassy hill.
A lesson learned, a truth quite grim:
Sometimes your body plays jokes on him.
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "
Apr 7
Apr 7, 2026 at 6:41 AM UTC
The sun was bright, the sky was blue,
But Malcolm didn’t share the view.
He walked with steps both stiff and strange,
Like someone seeking a mountain range,
Or someone hiding a secret quest
Within the trousers of his best.
It started small, a tiny tickle,
A minor, localized prickly pickle.
But soon it grew, a fiery dance,
A phantom scratching inside his pants.
He tried the "Wiggle," then the "Slide,"
With nowhere left for a man to hide.
He leaned against a brickwork wall,
To give the area a subtle haul.
He did a shimmy, he did a quake,
Like a very nervous, upright snake.
He feigned a stretch, a rhythmic lunge,
To give that itch a desperate sponge.
"Is it the laundry? Is it the spice?
Did I not rinse the cycle twice?"
The questions swirled within his head,
While his dignity hung by a single thread.
He looked to the left, he looked to the right,
Then ducked behind a bush, out of sight.
With a sigh of relief and a frantic hand,
He reclaimed peace in the Promised Land.
The crisis passed, the storm was still,
He walked back up the grassy hill.
A lesson learned, a truth quite grim:
Sometimes your body plays jokes on him.
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "
Please by all means have a listen to this poem put into song at the link below. I bet ya have a chuckle.
https://suno.com/s/TTWoYN7Qt7QrQi1H
