Swooping from the sky. Light as the feather he wields. No garments or socks from his feather can shield.
High he sours like the man of steel. But a punch to his stomach and he'll lose his meal.
So why do criminals flee from his sight? Just lift the bag on his head in broad daylight.
Still the ticklish justice he brings is divine. And when he is done you may sit with him and have cheese and wine.
He is the justice bringer, He is a dead ringer, He is a damn fine singer, He was once on Jerry Springer.
Ticklish rights for one and all! Even if he only stands 4 foot tall.
Tickle fetish artist that only acts once a week and, hopefully, whose gallery will increase in quality over time.
Poetry courtesy of
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