Rusty's got the blues

Rusty’s having a hard time
getting out of the sack. It's tough
to stick your neck out day after
day, straighten your comb and face
a fourth wall of kids, eyelids
crusty with sleep, breath milky
from Lucky Charms.

Those kids look up, waaaay up, 
to him -- the cock of the walk
of state TV. Standing shoulder
to shoulder with a giant
and giraffe. The Brothers Grimm
meet Chicken Licken.

No one listens when he says
the sky feels like it's falling. 
Inside that dark marsupial 
pouch, he languishes, no longer 
calls the dawn - a small revolt 
against the hand fate’s dealt him.

But who is Rusty kidding?

One trill of the flute from
the Friendly one, and he pops
up. A Jack, a weasel circling
the mulberry bush, and day
after day the golden crank
winds round.  

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