Mind the Prom King's Crown

A Prom King’s tilted crown,

he’ll dance with anyone in town,

except her, in the wheel chair,

because, “should she even be there?”

A tilted crown on a big old head,

football star, filling nerds with dread,

he’ll pretend he’s cool in the front,

but behind their backs he calls ‘em all, “cunt.”

The spotlight on the Prom King,

he’ll wave his hands, flaunt a pinkie ring,

he got from his dad, who bought a wing,

for the school after a scandalous fling.

There was a Prom Queen,

we haven’t seen,

she might be held up by security at

the door.  She’s not from here it seems.

The Prom King’s first dance to his song,

a country tune to which he gets the words wrong,

in a circle by himself, surrounded by lackeys, slack-jaws

and  yokels, in rhythm with no one, harrumph and pshaws.

The DJ was wrong, the Prom King got the words right,

that DJ should be fired immediately and on sight.

How dare he disagree, he’s the Prom King with a decree,

“Everything I say is right, if you disagree, kiss my ass tonight!”

The Prom King’s tilted crown, lower on the brow,

confused by the unwillingness of people to kowtow,

to each crazy demand, statement or thought,

“Don’t they know how good they’ve got?”

The Prom King spits and froths near the end,

he wants a new limo, a new driver, a new friend,

he wants a new Queen (But we still haven’t seen her,

so there’s little drama to the scene.)

The Prom King’s crown tilted and cocked,

might not be the issue we thought to concoct,

It must be his head that’s so off center,

next Prom, I’m sure we’ll vote better.

The night is over, the dancing’s all done,

there’s no more spiked punch or fights to be won,

The Prom King, alone on the bleachers, he’ll fail this

year, because of the teachers.

“Don’t blame me, I was cool. They just hated me,

that stupid school,” he’ll be heard years later to say,

working at Dad’s office in real estate

and considering a role as a delegate.

Be careful who you elect as your Prom King,

he might be a bully, a brat or a ding-a-ling,

and he’ll grow up with that victory in mind,

classless, tasteless and unkind.

A Prom King’s tilted crown,

could become the bane of every town,

so smarten up, and listen,

we wouldn’t want this to come to fruition.