Flea Market Mortie

Flea Market Mortie
By Jon Slone







Flea Market Mortie was a Flea Market Nut!
‘Til the sign was turned off
And the gates were locked shut.
You could find that Mortie neck deep in some Bissels.
And non-stick Skillets and Faded-Red Missiles!

And broken old speakers
And saddles from battles.
And busted bug zappers
And ping pong paddles.

If it was useful and if it was spicy.
And if it was ugly and stupid and pricey.
Mortie would buy it and bag it and haul it.
Why every 2 seconds he was grabbin’ his wallet!

Spending that money for deeds to sewers.
And Sure-Grip Basters and Bamboo Skewers!
Some records and marbles and Lug Nuts and Food.
And a peed-on couch that was partially chewed!

An 8-Track player that was totally fried.
And puzzles with not all the pieces inside.
A Street-Cleaning truck and a Grand Father Clock.
And a Red Rocking chair that forgot how to rock.

And one of those toys where you pull on the string.
And the cow goes Moo and the bird starts to sing.
And the cat goes Meow and Hiss goes the snake.
But Mortie’s of course
Not a sound did it make!

Load it up
Load it up
Take it all home!
With some cheap plastic vomit and a shiny black comb.
I’m sure that his Linda will love all that Chrome!
For you can’t have enough of that junk in your home!

That Mortie he’s got him a head full of rocks.
He bought that Death Star Space Station box.
But only the box!
There was no toy in sight!

That Mortie was never mistaken for bright!

He bought him some Post-Its
And Handy Wipe Packets.
And Pepsi Dispensers
And Badminton Rackets.

If it was Iffy or worn-out or wacky
Or torn-up or broken or busted or tacky.
That Mortie would buy it
From marbles to mall.

The only thing wrong now
His house is too small.



Jon Stormtrooper Slone