I Drive

I may not sell merchandise
at your one-nighter, hell-hole dive,
You may book me in the far outskirts
But to the show, I’ll drive.

Does my persistence bug you?
On the phone in your office-tomb?
‘Cause I call like I tape HBO
Specials in my living room.

Just like the cycle of the moon,
When the cancellations thrive,
I'll do guest sets or sit home and get high,
Still I’ll drive.

Did you want my jokes unspoken?
New material go untried?
Show shirts sitting in the hamper,
Never washed and never dried?

Do my best punchlines offend you?
Don’t you listen very hard
‘Cause I tell 'em like they're gold lines
That were written by the Bard.

You may choose not to book me,
You give excuses and give lies,
They tell me that you're in a meeting,
But still, like rain, I’ll drive.

Does my determination plague you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I work a hundred stages
While you use the same old guys?

From the Chuckle-huts of comedy’s name
I drive
Jokes from a past that’s rooted in pain
I drive
I’m a whiskey ocean, brown and wide,
Swimming and grinning until closing time.

Leaving behind sets that didn't go well
I drive
Next night I rock them, I'm funny as hell
I drive
Playing the stages the vaudevillians loved,
Casinos, colleges, comedy clubs.
I drive
I drive
I drive.

with apologies to Ms. Angelou