Woebegone and egg foo young on you
meaning me of course
sidestepping a crucial positive
electric kool aid battery acid test
prior to pledging troth,
and tying Gordian knot
to strangulation point,
never fending for myself,
nor being disaster about to happen.

I did house/pet sit when parents
went away on their time sharing vacation
minimally satisfyingly jump/
kick starting, placating, compensating
for dashed ***** state
offering smattering of taste
regarding all those unrealized
golden (gated) opportunities.

Case in point conducting,
honoring, liberating unstinting pyromaniac
kindling burning man within me  
continuously aggravating, enraging, and inflaming
Lower Providence fire department.

When roaring towering inferno
crept frightfully close to nearby houses,
yours truly banked on his guardian angel
rescuing me as smoldering tinder
spread like... what else wildfire.

The dolled guise firewoman incarnate
none other than Mary Poppins,
who still appeared rather gracefully slick
(especially during rainy weather)
at 17 Cherry Tree Lane, London England
could pull off cheap trick
or think super tramping Glinda
protagonist courtesy film Wizard of Oz
Good Witch of the North
ruler of the Quadling Country

South of the Emerald City,
and protector of Princess Ozma
riding her reo speedwagon
at light speed in nick
of time (in case of flat tire)
she will travel on her
state of the art broomstick,
but unfortunately said
courteous wonder women
long since retired though the former

still residing in her dotage
at the Banks residence,
nevertheless in an emergency
either one or the other
willingly avail themselves
providing freelance capering
constituting steep consulting fee services
while comfortably holed up
in their respective bailiwick.

After extinguishing blaze,
she and her sidekick The Cat In The Hat,
who just showed up out of thee blue (flame)
briefly secretly conferred
before delivering merriment
to drudgery of housekeeping chores
training, loosing, and applying
their joint secret powers
both as domestic facilities managers.

They gingerly launched, pitched,
tackled traditional domestic disaster,
with collective snap, crackle, and pop
of handy dandy magic fingers
before disappearing themselves.

A sudden whoosh rectified
messy living quarters
overflowing with countless generations
well fed healthy energized dust bunnies
automatically relegated and swept into dustbin
suppressing urge to boastfully brag
to nobody in particular.

Whistling while I worked
yours truly simultaneously  
cooked gourmet cuisine
excelling serving culinary house
special of the day,
qua charcoal brisket ala burnt offerings,
potchkying, scalding yours truly
courtesy untimely uncovering
pressure cooker, or weathering
comedy of errors
flipping upside down

all's well that ends well,
or experiencing severe
irreparable psychological trauma,
vis a vis creating hell's kitchen
house of horrors, mortal mishaps,
world wide webbed
series of unfortunate events,
or shenanigans deemed rite of passage
including indulging sybaritic life
linkedin with living single
fancy free and footloose,

thus imperative for this bard
to compensate aforementioned loss
postulating poetically
prevaricating potschking
as chef boyardee
envisioning, speculating, ruing
laundering with excess detergent
feigning enjoying drowning,
actually playfully wallowing
within sea of bubblicious sudsiness,
Spongebob Squarepants would die for
(unless he happens tubby in Darfur,

no particular rhyme nor reason),
while there purchasing
for this unassuming
devil who wears prada
mine surprise constituting
red badge of courage
surviving helter skelter welter
trials and tribulations
knowing I got true grit
accruing commensurate
valuable salient self survival skills
unexpectedly apprenticed with a book deal.