29 Katzenjammers tipped over the clouds

29                       

Katzenjammers tipped over the clouds,

dousing the pate of creation.  The tin

roof drummed.  Uproarious in gutters and spouts,

a tippler babbled to be let in.

 

Noses pressed to the saving glass,

we held at bay the pratfall chaos,

and only our eyes, straining to see,

flashed in the dark our secret glee.