On the occasion of going to dine
at Crys’s mom’s……refined
Saw a Neanderthal in a pinafore…
Twice a year my nose gets outta joint
Th Roly Poly Poet…I get no further than that, you see, after so grand a title…
You poets out there know I’m sure
how sneaky words can pose a lure
in order to make you think you’re on the brink…
But some poems are dead ends–never see
the light of joyful welcome. Sigh, we know it’s we who have failed them.
Other poems just don’t have it, only
lie on the dock smelling fishy,,.
They do it about once a year now–
my words. They want to play with me.
They jump in the dirt and roll…and
expect me to crawl in the mud after them–(which I do)
If I say thunder rattled the window pane
where does your mind go next?
I wrote a depressed poem called Down in the Mouth
and it was so bad I wrote “Lighten Up,”
both blessedly missing from this diatribe.
For shame, Alphonse, was my response
when he suggested a rendezvous–
just we two. I got mad, then sad
for though he was my sisater’s beau
I always thought him cute, you know?