Mongoose Blues

Chris Jacobson wore a tie too tight, Dreamin’ of Megan in the pale moonlight. She’s got a snarl, a tail, and a bite, But he keeps comin’ back night after night. She’s got fur like gold and eyes that glare, A mongoose with a mane of platinum hair. She hisses and growls, throws plates through the air, But Chris just sighs, “She’s got that stare…” Oh Megan, why you gotta be so mean? You scratch like a tiger, but you’re still my queen. You remind me of someone I used to know— Mama Darcy, from long ago. It’s not just the looks, it’s the way she storms, Like a thundercloud in anthropomorphic form. Freud would have a field day, no doubt, But love’s a jazz tune—twisted inside out. He tried to leave, packed his bags one June, But her silhouette danced in the light of the moon. He said, “She’s wild, she’s chaos, she’s doom…” Then whispered, “But she’s my favorite tune.” Oh Megan, you’re a riddle in fur and flame, A mongoose with madness, but I love you the same. You’re trouble, you’re fire, you’re a dream gone rogue— But I’m hooked on your jazz, and I can’t let go.