Miss Mensa

you always bragged you were a member of Mensa

but when it came to love you were always on the fence

you majored in psychology but not in common sense

you were always the smartest one in the room

you gotta lotta dollars but not much cents

you wish you had a friend to turn to

you stay home alone most nights

never seen the big city lights

you’ve never seen nothing but scaled all the heights

you were too good for anybody else

found out life ain’t all balloons and kites

you realize that now

you’re content to live your life alone

but you still sit close to the phone

thinkin’ about all the chances you’ve blown

‘cause you were smarter than anybody else

now you sit by yourself in your expensive brownstone

wondering if you outsmarted yourself

you called them lowlifes and said they had no class

just pieces of ordinary trash

but now you could kick yourself in the ass

maybe they weren’t really so bad

you could fit your happiness in a shot glass

now you’ve got no one to turn to

Long Lonesome Fourth Street

goin’ down that long lonesome fourth street

past manicured lawns and barbecue grills

tucked away in perfectly kept back yards

by perfectly kept beautiful people with beautiful money

past the elementary school where I learned what I needed to learn

everything else that came later on was superfluous

past baseball fields with twisted metal fences as backstops

where I learned my baseball dreams weren’t going to come true

bowling alley red line red line beer frames

late nights, strikes, spares, spending time in the gutter

jimmy’s on the left--left a lot of cash in there

liquid lunches with friends from work and school

trying to avoid life which kept looking for me

like a detective with a grudge

by the oil refineries and steel mills where I once worked

but left for greener pastures that I haven’t found yet

up to the big city that promised much but delivered nothing

wearing pretty clothes 100 stories high

rode the train into the city--it never took long enough

job interviews for jobs I didn’t want

steel tracks reaching out past lifetimes of generations

now into the north country--why I don’t know

goin’ someplace cold and remote

Image Conscious

I don't want to subscribe to the magazine you're selling

I'm just not into all that negativity you're pushing 

I don't want to hear your empty rage and yelling 

just like oil from a well you just keep on gushing 

I'm tired of hearing about the injustices done to you

when most of the time you were behind it

you speak about things you've lost and not the things you have won

well why don't you go out and try to find them

life ain’t really treated you so bad

you were too busy looking down

just think of all the good things you could of had

your white light of hope has always been dark brown
you’ve always worn a frown

you’re full of anger and been a misanthrope

saying that the world is against you

I don’t believe what you say

you’re tangled up in cobalt blue

look up at the sky once in a while

feel the sun on your back and the wind in your hair

you might just crack a smile

maybe you just shouldn’t care

your image has been so important in your little world 

you always worry on those people you think doubt you

concerned with every look and every perfect curl

the reality is they don't even think about you