This is the door of the controversial doctor
Who was accused of dispensing pain pills like candy
To “patients” who came from near and far
To a location that was handy—
The fourth floor of the Masonic Building
On Chillicothe Street in P’town.
Was he practicing medicine or a swindle;
Was he high-minded or low-down;
Was he Hippocratic or hypocritical;
Was he hard working or just lazy;
Was he the sufferer’s best friend,
An angel of mercy—or just crazy?
He operated in God’s country, the Buckeye state,
Thirteen crowded so-called clinics
Where milling “patients” faced a long wait
That drove some of them to hysterics.
On entering, what his patients would see
Was a smooth
shaven, bow-tied gent
Who was not only a bona fide M.D.
He proposed a foreign policy called SMITE—
A biblical assault on evil—
A reminder to enemies of God’s might,
Which could eradicate them like boll weevil.
In addition to providing a fix to those in pain,
The doctor also would ask for a donation
For his presidential campaign
To help relieve the pain of the nation.
He literally threw his hat in the ring,
A hat made by Cynthia, his millinery wife.
She was his one, his only, his everything—
His faithful companion for life,
His support hose, his holy staff.
She was the first to ask, “Jim, what’s the matter?”
The only one who could make him laugh—
She was both his dream of genie and mad hatter.
Having gone bankrupt in 2007,
Did Lundeen, when he came to P’town
Feel like he’d arrived in loser’s heaven?
Mayor Malone, President Haas, Kalb the clown,
Lundeen’s office was just down the hall
Did Lundeen, when he came to P’town
Feel like he’d arrived in loser’s heaven?
Mayor Malone, President Haas, Kalb the clown,
Desimone, of Fork and Finger—
And a very close call for Kevin—
All had given creditors the finger,
All were deadbeats, all Chapter 7.
From the studios of WNXT,
Where Stephanie Haze, the SOGP’s moll,
The fourth floor hall of Masonic Building where as many as forty patients sometimes waited to see Lundeen
The Concerned Citizens Group—
For criticizing the SOGP’s dirty tricks,
While, milling in the hall, dozens of cooped
Up addicts waited impatiently for their fix,
Waited like cars to get gassed on dope.
The shorn losing candidate in one of his cramped thirteen offices
Notice the box marked “Free Trial,” a sample,
As if it contained some evil dope
From the satanic Procter and Gamble,
Which was into much more than soap.
The Southern Ohio Growth Partnership
Controls P’town like Tammany did Manhattan
And the military now does Egypt.
While the poor of Portsmouth repine, the SOGP fatten.
Only after the homeboy was not reelected
Did the state revoke Lundeen’s license;
Only after one in eight babies were born addicted
Did authorities finally stop the pretense.
Lundeen had been dispensing for five long years,
While Stephanie Haze ranted on the station
Against C.A.V.E. People and the CCG’ers
For besmirching P’town’s reputation!
The doctor has fled to Indiana or Pennsylvania.
On the fourth floor, WNXT has found the solution:
Thirty second plugs for Mohr’s Automania—
Instead of pain pills, it’s noise pollution.
Mohr noise
