They called him colourful
for various, salient reasons.
A renegade by birth,
a master of all seasons.

His trademark: Purple socks
and boxer shorts with stripes,
he was unorthodox,
a man of many gripes.

Some said he was against
all facets of convention
though he became incensed
and flaunted his intention
out in the Public Square.

A soapbox was his pulpit
he told them what was fair
but few would ever gulp it.
He knocked official thinking,

it was, he said, well-known
that when the ship is sinking
the sails get overblown.
He won the Golden Lotto

and millions made him rich.
Together with mate Otto
and Otto's girl named 'Bitch'
they fired all the captains

and bueraucrats as well
and waited for acceptance
though only time will tell.
He ordered all the schools

to dump their faulty teaching
and locked up all those fools
who didn't like his preaching.

His name was Don Mafioso
he hailed from Sicily
a bigger, badder bozo
was not from Italy.

Herbert Nehrlich

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-my-attic-v/