My Jacket That Zips in the Back…

I have this beautiful jacket,

I only wear it when I stay in,

My little rubber room at the asylum,

Where I can assume to be whom I please.

Sometimes I am Napoleon,

Sometimes the duke of Windsor,

I have even been Roosevelt,

But only when good I felt.

But my jacket is so nice,

It wraps around from in front,

And keeps my arms and body,

All warm just like drinking a toddy,

It zips from the rear,

Like that of a woman’s dress,

So it is hard to put on without the help,

Of the two nice men in they’re little white coats.

They seem to feel that when hunting for nuts I go,

Then it is time for me to be caught,

And for some reason they use a net,

The net is not made for fishing,

Well, maybe so, after all, as they seem to be,

Fishing for people the likes of me…

This does not happen often,

My stays at the asylum motel are short,

But when I am there, I find it hard to tell,

Who admitted themselves?

And whom did the court commit?

Well I guess now that I opened up and told,

You all of my deepest, darkest secrets,

You will keep on reading my poetry till I get too old,

To know if anyone is out there,

Beyond that of my rubber cell, er, room,

Per the person with the groovy drugs,

Have to, as they say, keep the nature of this place,

                     Full of grace…

                                                            (ed)