by Gary Davis

Created on: May 16, 2008

In the middle of Jim's back was an itch,
To see him try to reach was a stitch.
His arm was too short,
He tried to find a cohort,
He couldn't and it truly was rich.

I was watching him from far behind,
Watching him reach, wave and grind,
I could have helped,
But the humor would be squelched,
I know it was truly unkind.

Finally Jim lay on the floor,
I believe it was right by the door,
He scratched on his back,
With the floor's rubbing attack,
Until he couldn't move anymore.

At last I no longer got a thrill,
By watching Jim's efforts yield nil,
I went on my way,
In fact I went out on the bay,
As for Jim he's probably lying there still.

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