Teen Angel

When I was a tiny brute, I’m pretty sure there used to be a program on TV called Teen Angel, starring Jason Priestley as a comely corpse on a mission from God. Sounds improbable, I admit. Here’s a little poem about it:

 

Teen Angel

1.

For I have stood on the yawning chasm

Between midnight and sun-up,

While the witches widdershinned about the arcade

And hexed Pac-Man

Causing his yellow balls to atrophy

And Pac-Girl to run into the spermatazoic sleeves

Of that creep from Bubble Bobble

(What do you think he spun them bubbles outta, bub?).

Now Pac-Man heaves his blighted sack about the mazes of

2-bit lonesomeness

Playing tag with my saggy-sheeted brethren.

2.

I’m a ghost too,

See,

But instead of rocking the damp eiderdown

I got this authentic-looking pleather jacket

And a pompadour.

And instead of chasing yellow balls around mazes,

I do God’s work and pout.

Sometimes the two coincide:

God works in mysterious ways.

3.

You might know me as the Disney James Dean.

Or you might know me as Teen Angel,

The pubic poltergeist.

But you can call me

Spooky Bagthorpe,

I guess.