BATTLE'S SIGN

After vomiting into a plastic bag
Donald was ready to conquer the world.
He said, "Fella, that hit the spot."
Of course, Donald was talking to himself.
He says all kinds of things to his reflection.
One might spy him whispering at a sunny
windshield, perhaps making the driver
nervous enough to roll down a window.
“Coulda woulda shoulda,” Donald bellows
into a toilet paper roll,
"Go lay an egg, needle nose..."
Always misunderstanding the situation,
that Donald. So,
after standing for some hours,
wearing a nickel like a monocle,
Donald looked inside an exhaust pipe.
And then what? Well,
then he drank several quarts of milk
and examined his peepers
through a two-way mirror.
He smiled as if greeting an old friend,
a familiar face. Sure enough,
he had given himself
raccoon eyes again.