Cracker Jack

Cracker Jack

Anorak hangs on the back of the door
And the bicycle leans on the shed
He sits and writes letters most of the day
A bobble hat fixed to his head
He’s coming up the hill
Looking ever so ill
And he goes back to his bed

In the hot summer when he’s out on the lawn
It’s so interesting seeing him there
He’s used to the broom on the barber shop brush
It’s covered in tufts of grey hair
He’s coming up the road
He’s croaking like a toad
Is there anybody there

With arms full of cabbages in Wellington boots
He’s walking up the garden
To witness some troops
Standing by his roses
With the cans of spray paint
He shouts out with anger
With the face of a saint

Kids lay in wait then pounce from behind
To scare the old man from his wits
He must’ve known love some time in his life
In this jigsaw where nothing much fits
He’s handing out the sweets
As he tries to make peace
Just as another storm hits

Crackerjack lives on his own
He wants to spend his life alone
But has to take the flak
For being Cracker Jack

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