Creative Writing Exercise, Part 1

In the meeting of my Blog DeCal this Monday, it was determined that instead of doing critiques of our classmates weekly, we would simply have writing exercises (I was ambivalent to the subject, so I abstained from voting). This Monday, we were given a phrase and left to our own machinations. (The phrase, coincidentally, was "A man walks into a laundromat with a dog named Jesus.") The idea was to get people's creative juices (the kind that have a really salty taste) flowing, as well as give people things to post on their blog.

Originally, I was going to keep my piece locked away in the iron grip of my orange folder, but I've noticed that quite a few of the classmates have put theirs on the Intertubes. And though I've been told it's nothing to be ashamed of, I would hate to be thought of as a pariah. So take of this what you will; the rhythm is wonky as hell, but it's pretty okay on the whole.

A man walks into a laundromat with a dog named Jesus,
Wearing worn-out shoes and threadbare clothes;
He has only three quarters left in his lint-filled pocket;
The fourth was used to buy a most beautiful rose.
The old man sits on a bench, staring up at the ceiling,
The flickering lights and the electric fan in repose;
The disapproving owner walks over and coughs out to him,
"This ain't a place to be starin', it's a place to wash clothes."
The old man laughs and turns his gray eyes to the owner;
"You're the son of the previous proprietor, I suppose.
Don't mistake me for some random tramp and his dog;
No, sir, I've been waiting for my laundry since God only knows."
The owner is perplexed and sits down on the bench;
The dog named Jesus digs into his palm with its nose;
"I was a patron here when your daddy owned the place;
That was back when I wore better-looking clothes.
I dropped off my laundry into that washer in the corner,
And went off downtown to watch the movie shows.
That's when I saw sweet Ms. Margaret Sullivan,
God's most beautiful creature from head to toes.
She smiled at me from under her veiled hat,
And held out in her hand a magnificent rose;
When I saw the sign that said 'One Nickel Apiece,'
I cried out like a fool in love, 'I'll take one of those!'
She gave me the rose and a kiss on the cheek,
And I almost fell to my knees, ready to propose;
But that's when her boyfriend came out from behind a corner;
Seeing that ruffian, my mind, my heart, my body all froze.
He began screaming and swinging wildly at me,
And I struggled to fight back, to match all his blows;
I did seem to have the advantage of height and speed,
But to be perfectly honest, he was a tough contender to oppose.
I feel no particular need to go into the gory details;
But rest assured, good sir, there were plenty of those.
Suffice to say, the next thing I remember, I was in bed;
And found it was surprisingly difficult to move when I arose.
The astounded nurse told me that I was in a coma for many years,
And I must tell you, sir, that feeling was the lowest of lows;
To look at myself in the mirror and see an old man in my stead;
And everyone else wonders where the time goes.
I later decided in jest and see if my laundry was finally done;
And on my way, I saw a young girl who was selling a rose.
They cost a quarter now, but I was happy to give her the coin,
Now I'll remember Ms. Margaret Sullivan when it reaches my nose."
The old man stretches his arms and slowly stands from the bench,
Saying to the owner "I best get back before it snows."
A man walks out of laundromat with a dog named Jesus,
And I have no idea where he goes.


So that's that. I'll be honest; the whole coma story was just me being lazy. If I ever write a full version, the guy will probably have been in prison, or sent off to war, or some other interesting story that would take about three times as many lines. Anyhoo, that was my little creative exercise, the "one-rhyme wonder."

Toodles.