This poem: you might find
Reading it is kinda tough
Because it touches on
Things like vaguery and stuff.
Optimists say the glass is half full;
Pessimists say it’s half empty.
As I poet, I must be an optimist
Because nothing rhymes with “empty.”
Living as a bumblebee
Is really very lame.
Your life is run by mind control
And every day’s the same.
Our homes are much too sticky
And attract too many bears.
Yellow and black are so last Spring
But no one ever cares.
It’s hard to have an argument
When your sole source of defense
Creates discomfort in your enemy
And kills you in recompense.
And so we drone and buzz and fly
And polenate a bagonia,
Humming “Fields of Gold” by Sting,
Hoping the queen does not disown ya.
I’ve got a crippling fear of insects,
But that’s not much of an issue
Since I work inside a hospital
In the birthing ward.
From time to time, an ugly baby
Will burst forth into my view.
I’ll say “oh look, he’s cute as a bug,”
‘Cause it’s honest and I’m bored.
If I were a dinosaur
I’d be a stegosaurus.
I’d spend my time stargazing
And singing in a chorus.
And if predators mess with me,
With my tail, I’d resist,
‘Cause no one beats a stegosaurus
When steggy’s feeling pissed.
I’d eat some grass, then some more;
The destiny of an herbivore.
Then I’d be eaten when I’m old.
A fitting fate, so I was told.
And when I got lonely,
I’d go searching on Steg’s List
And remember my old Triceratops
And how it hurt when we kissed.
I took a walk this morning.
It’s just something that I like.
Then I peed in the bushes
And the walk became a hike.