Certifiable

I am certifiable
I’ve never been reliable
so it should come as no surprise
to have this paper meet my eyes
that states in letters bold and blue
the thing that I already knew,
that I am certifiable,
certified a loon.
My memory is just so-so
’cause I don’t think I really know
what test I took so they could tell
that I belong in cuckoo hell,
though questioning it isn't fair
the proof’s in how I fix my hair…
Yes, I am certified a boor,
I cannot be your friend no more
the boys in coats will come for me
they’ll lock me up and eat the key
to keep all safe who wander near,
unknowing of the danger here
’cause I am certifiable,
a loco from the moon.
The paper’s stamped and very clear,
I’ve had it nearly half a year
it took a while to tell you this
they say that ignorance is bliss
but you should know the mess I’m in
I’m headed for the loony bin—
the dishes in the sink need washed,
the laundry’s done, but someone’s lost
the stack of bills (all overdue)
that I had organized for you.
My schedule’s posted in the hall,
the bathroom leaks, the school just called,
we’re out of diapers, call the vet
the dog is sick… and your upset…
I’m sorry, but you understand
the situation’s out of hand
and I belong in Nutleyville
the state will surely foot the bill
’cause papers don’t come every day
that plainly state that you should stay
within a padded quiet room
away from worldly thoughts of doom.
Virginia Institute of Health
Department of the Commonwealth—
I’ve got it here, you see this line?
“This Institute does hereby find
that after testing we declare
your mental state beyond compare.”
The rest, you ask? If you must know,
I haven’t really read it, so…
ummm… “Please come back so we can test
the status of your… genius?

Wait—