Trailer Park Poetry

(Inspired by the blog "My Life as a Missionary to the Trailer Park" )
By Cave Man

In a land that seems at time ineffable
I scurry to pen this poem in such an hour
As to bring understanding to a place not so ethical
Yet with pious intentions I will speak and not cower
Last night I heard voices from outside the port-a potty
Different noises of a likening I have never heard before
So my own foolishness brought me to inquire
Of a rooting and ranting behind a trailer house door
As I approached to see what it could be
A mob of half shirted beer bellies tackled me
I awoke the next morning in this guy Chico’s bed
And in that trailer and I saw about 15 heads
I staggered like a crippled beggar bruised and blue
I smelled a nauseating stench
As Big Mama Pump cooked up some pigeon stew
All across the kitchen floor slept the boxers of bananas
This is the life of those who live in the trailer parks of Arkansas
The sun now awake from its slumber
So I thought I would go to the forest to gather some lumber
The breeze was pleasant, the smell was poignant
Life here’s not so bitter, I am starting to enjoy it
But I spoke too soon, from the park I heard a boom
A silent storm of some seriousness stretched me to conclude
It was that man, Joe Bob, dancing in the nude
The neighbors yelling, calling him quaint
Yet this my first convert, the towns only saint
What’s going on my teaching’s not so great
Well one thing I’ve learned from all this
God says be patient in Barhill and wait
And in your trials relax and don’t faint