Roger Jo

This man, Roger Jo.
All dressed up and ready to go,
brushed his teeth, trimmed his nose hair.
Had a cup of tea in his favorite chair.

This was his first day off in ages.
Now he could meet his friends and play chess.
'To the Gentlemen's club', he proclaimed,
to ease his nerves so badly maimed.

After a brisk and sunny stroll 'Oi Butler!'
yelled our hustler 'Come and show me in!
There's a game in which I'm playing
and I'd like to begin.'

With a twitchy eye and a quivering chin
butler Tabbin scanned our sir from head to toe.
'But oh woe!' replied the geezer,
his expression took a change to uneasier.

'As you well know sir we have the strictest code.
Manners of the lords and clothing a la mode.
That said, I find you quite wanting I'm afraid.'

'What's this jabbin' old Tabbin, surely you know me!
Courtship's my game in all tact as you see!
If you insist to stick with your proposition at least tell me why."

'Well, quite frankly sir, you're grotesquely missing an eye.'

-

Taken aback by the unexpected rejection,
Roger took a moment for some self-reflection.

'Well now, too bad, but this is no time to be sad.
It's my day off for all that I care,
why not stop by Ivanoff to purchase slacks a new pair.'

Towards the taylor the stroll was resumed,
with the merry air our Roger exhumed.

Knock-knock, rappity tap, said the fancy oak door,
adjourned to a shop that with mere smell repels the poor.

'Betray me not my eyes, isn't it indeed!
Old codger, Jo Roger, the man who keeps me in feed!
Come in, come in, or I'll carry you like a king!'

'Bogger off, Ivanoff, my dear goofer. I'm just looking for some clothing to make my air that much aloofer.
Maybe just a jacket or a whole new set. What would you think that made me most amused!'

But without pulling out the measure his request seemed to be refused.

'Oh no my lord, afford this not I may, any clothing lain on your frame would surely go astray. Please remember, in my art your best interest is most closely by my heart.'

'Tempest and ashes, now what is this game!
Why put a good man in gloom of such shame!
My eye is no more as I was informed before,
but to stop you stitching sleeves to a vest,
my man, surely you jest!'

'Oh sir, how to say this, I'm at a loss for words.
Be as you may in your utmost charms,
don't make me tell you that you have no arms."

-

Poor Roger, his patience so grievously tested.
Is his good mood thus to be bested?

'Oh Lord, why do my fellow men shun me?
What kind of wrong could I ever have done thee?
Friends send me away for physical appearance,
but please wait oh God,
I just recalled our common acquaintance!'

'Yes indeed, how could I have ignored the one person who in my company by law shall never be bored.
This particular individual arouses me in uncanny measures,
so as for today from here on out I shall endulge in marital pleasures!'

So once more our Roger,
financially well but sympathetically poor,
with a skip in his step was on his way to make this day.

Marion Leanne, bride of the man, was in the act of enclosing her fair frame in the clothing for today, as her husband, ever so romantic and in acts of love openly frantic, barged in demanding ribbons and ties to be unsolved, for a fierce incarnation of their love was about to unfold.

Rearing with lust,
his eyes fixed on the bust,
a matrimonial pledge to enforce,
Roger proceeded firmly towards intercourse.

But suddenly the pruder half,
eyes big and wet like those of a calf,
started a debate that made Roger's swords deflate.

'Don't think of me as a weeper my dear upkeeper,
as well as you do what you do so should I do to you.
It's not what you did or said, nor am I leakingwise worried for the bed.'

Roger froze and stared, utterly aghast.
With her eyes downcast Marion declared:

'I'm sure my refusal will not have you pleased,
but be sincere, would you make love to a person who's deceased?'

-

Roger's day off was proving improportionately dreary.
Downright crummy and it made him weary.

Not only was he found missing an eye,
forever unable of scratching his thigh,
and if he was to believe his wife,
last but not least,
lost even a life.

Roger's knowledge of healthcare was admittedly bare,
but with a risk of amateur diagnosis his state gave him a scare.
Leaving his wife's bedside he decides to head where the doctor resides.

Facing yet another door he was greeted by a penicillular odor,
no games and guesses anymore, it was time to settle the score with the scientist who so many adore.

Bones and jars, incision scars,
fumes exhausted behind bars,
frights easily associated with wars,
displayed side and center, row after row,
but after the doctor said 'enter',
Roger didn't even spare a bow.

'Hear me never or now, doctor Eisenhower,
as busy as you may have been,
I believe that in me you have the wretchedmost man you have ever seen,
and I'm keen indeed to find the doctrine that I need.
Um, please.'

Leaving his work took doctor quite long until he inquired: 'What seems to be wrong?'
To which Jo Roger said without a case appropriate dread: 'I'm supposed to be dead.'

'Well now my friend.' said the doctor.
'People usually see me before their end.
The fate godsend is rather impossible to bend.
So before we go ahead, I'm really talking to a man who's walking but dead?'

'Oh, people around me seem to say that I've lived beyond my final day.'

'A curse upon you, tell and pray.
Quite the hindrance, is it nay.'

'Curses blasts and cossack boots!
A dead man over land to dwell,
for all I know this could be hell!
Good thing I carry this fine sword of mine,
to rid the demons and dragons inside.'

A flash from scabbard,
heinous deed was concluded,
fate as a dead man was henceforth eluded.
See, Roger was a pious man,
he feared the ban and of course God's hand.
He endeavored for soul's integrity for when he confronts with holy eternity.

Abruptly doctor was left silent and still,
for he missed his chance to remind Roger that it's 1st of April.