The Quarepuca met me in the square
with forns of gold but not one hair,
his four-leaf charlock held mid-air,
pink barber poles shadding near.
Quarepuca’s have a frackish stare.
His crocked grin, a sight most rare,
cigarette fumes, a warning flare.
he murmbles, “How ’bout truth or dare?”
From his tuberd neck, a glushy sound,
the volume shook the carbbled ground.
“Do you see what I’ve just found?
Hop on board, and jide me ’round,
and with my luck, you’ll sure be crowned.”
Even though my frizzies all frowned,
a shot of Bushies quickly pound,
I gratcheted his dark fur, tightly wound.
“Quarepuca, show me Dublin town.”
Little did I know, I’d ne’er come down.
© khartless 2021, All Rights Reserved
Björn is host for tonight’s Narrative Nonsense and how could I resist. I know what your thinking, if you’ve been following me long enough you’ve seen a bit of this one. I created the Quarepuca last April during National Poetry Month, but I love this poem even more with a bit of nonsense mixed in. Join us in nonsensical fun!
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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