I saw a Neanderthal in a pinafore…
Twice or more a year or so
my nose gets outta joint–
“The 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 very brink…
But some poems are dead ends,
never see the light of joyful welcome.
Sigh. We know it’s we who have
Other poems only lie on the dock
They do it about twice a year now, as I said,
my words, they want to play with me.
They jump into 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 sister’s
beau I always thought him cute, you know?