My Home Town (Unpub)

My home town,
Levelplayingfield, Maine,
plays by Isaacnewtonian rules
(“Ev’ry act prompts its equal
and opposite sequel”) --
in libraries, courtrooms
and schools.
 
We’ve a rest’rant
which runs in the black
‘cuz the sous-chef likes
cooking the books.
Still, what’s up ends up down –
Lev’field’s that kind of town.
Now our cops are seen
booking the cooks.
 
We’ve a truck farmer,
potting his plants.
There’s no flora
this fella ain’t got.
But our drug laws are changing,
and now he – deranging –
spends happy hours
planting his pot.
 
Our asylum keeps men
in white coats
busy padding the cells
of our mad.
Now, in order to amp up
the occupancy,
there’s a sales team
who’s selling the pad.
 
The town’s hearths
are kept spotless by sweeps.
They do windows as well,
and clean floors.
Still, the pittance they’re paid
(no paid leave, I’m afraid)
tends to floor our poor sweeps.
(Zut alors!)
 
Our locale boasts
its fair share of gamblers
who forever are
hedging their bets.
There’s a few who are addicts
who wager their attics,
and lawns,
betting hedges…and pets!
 
We’ve a gym:
boxers punching the bag,
partners sparring,
palookas – the bunch.
Plus, we’ve one ex-contender
who’s been on a bender.
(If him, I’d be
bagging the punch.)
 
At our ballpark,
the pitchers fan batters.
This I’ve watched
(season seats!) from the stands,
where I’ve witness’d, as well
(such a sad tale to tell),
gangs of hooligans
batt’ring the fans.
 
And, of course,
we’ve a local Don Juan.
who would buss
every missy he could.
But, though urged to leave town,
this Lothariol clown
opts to miss ev’ry bus
out the ‘hood.
 
We’ve a pest-control service
as well,
which for spying out rats
works first rate.
We’ve the Lev’field
Security Agency, too:
Good for ratting out spies.
(Spies we hate.)
 
I, to all who’d hold office
in Lev’field:
toss your hat in the ring!
Weigh a run!
Tho’ electees who do,
once elected -- too true --
run away…with town funds.
(Shame…? They’ve none.)
 
We’ve a theater:
I edit scripts,
play some parts,
break a leg with the cast.
And a graveyard, okay…?
‘Cuz departing the play
is an exit we’ll
all make at last.
 
My home town –
Levelplayingfield, Maine.
Under
Isaacnewtonian Law,
ev’ry yin yields its yang,
and, excuse the harangue,
such a backass burg
never you saw!