Mr. Peanut's Poem

Once a year — every year — I saw something so pretty --
These carloads of families head into my city.
With faces delighted and hopeful, these hoards
Would run from their cars to my walk made of boards.

A left turn would bring you to me — Mr. Peanut
Let me tell you my tale — from when I was a wee nut.
But first, by my side, from so merry a valley,
My helper, assistant, Miss Kerry O'Malley.

I was born when the boardwalk had not yet been built.
I planned it and nailed it right up from the silt.
I brought in the piers, and the rides, and golf courses --
The miniature kind. And the pool-diving horses.

Then Brooklyn in summer came down to my shore.
But with airplanes and Disney — they came here no more.
It grew quiet ... deserted ... depressed .. but serene.
Till I spotted young Myra, young Herb, young Helene.

I summoned my magic, the gods, and the moon
And I fed them a mystical round macaroon.
I put it in Fralinger's, knowing they're apt
To come back every year (I had it individually wrapped!)

It worked, and you grew, returning each year.
I smiled as you drove up and came to me here.
You'd drive to the Seaside Hotel then you'd be
Lined up at the boardwalk to run to the sea.

You'd eat fudge and taffy and chew just a little,
Then I'd offer you all my supreme peanut brittle.
With fingers all sticky, and hands oh so messy
You'd scurry to dinner, with great dear old Bessie.

At Harry Longo's brother you'd merrily laugh
And then walk past Taber's with its giant giraffe.
I'd hear you say, "Let's bike down to the long end,"
But it was 9:30, "Only time for the wrong end."

The width of the boardwalk would narrow and narrow --
Touch the rail all together, then back like an arrow.
Beause Skeeball was scheduled at several times.
(It was I who gave Herbie those handfuls of dimes!)

One o'clock — cheer — and you'd head without fear
To get tickets for rides on the Steeplechase Pier.
Always the ring toss, and always the Whip.
The Haunted House — sometimes — this ride you can skip.

The coaster was super, the gondolas stink!
The off for more fudge and an ice-fruity drink.
Then food again, after some more macaroons,
Oatmeal and yogurt and of course those stewed prunes.

Then back to the Boardwalk for a few pinball games.
Followed by fudge from the kitchen St. James.
Oh the mocassins, whoopie cushions, and a little stuffed kittie
Then you'd hug and depart from Atlantic City.

Now you find gamblers with money to burn.
They'll go bankrupt, then we'll await your return.
You'll come back to your memories left by the sea.
We're all waiting: Harry Longo, Bessie, and

Yours truly,
Mr. P

Ghost written by Adam and Doug