The Whistleblower

The Whistleblower
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When I work nights, I sometimes like
To sleep 'til half past nine.
The crossing guard, beside my yard,
Has other things in mind.
His whistle blasts, the soundwaves cast,
Invade my happy dreams,
A fantasy occurs to me
To fix this noisy fiend....
To cross the grass and kick his ass -
Complete would be my joy.
Then find a handy orifice,
In which, to shove his toy,
So when the knave returns to wave
His "STOP" sign made of tin,
Traffic stops for seven blocks
Each time he passes wind.

                    M.B.Curry