Ish Matters

Calling someone squeamish

Is more complex than it may seem.

After all, when was the last time

You called someone a squeam?

If someone is Spanish,

Sorta shy-ish, or whatnot

You know exactly what they are

But what’s a squeam?

That’s what I thought!

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True, Except For The Part Where I Have A Girlfriend

I’m not a competitive person

Like my girlfriend, Eleanor.

We laugh about how competitive she is

But I always laugh more.

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Perfectionists are bad at limbo

But not because it’s tough…

They spend the game complaining

That the bar’s not high enough.

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They Called It “Animal Control Headquarters”

I went to the zoo.

There was only one dog there.

It was a shih tzu.

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How My Mind Works 27 Minutes Before A Deadline…

Certain things sound like

Exactly what they mean

Like soy latte, pumpernickel,

Kitty, spoof, and spleen.

Other words were chosen

Without their meaning in mind

Like crepe, seizure, pumpernickel,

And the “pay me” version of “fine.”

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When Poetry Doesn’t Pay The Bills (Also, But My Books)

Today I made money

By performing tasks.

That’s why this poem’s late and bad

In case anybody asks.

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Another Win For Airport Security

Bob and Jim were terrorists

With three-ounce bottles of shampoo.

Steve and Josh were anarchists

And they each had some shampoo too.

They made a bomb to kill some folks

By pooling all of their shampoo

And they would have succeeded

If Dan, with the nail clippers, had gotten through.

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Honestly, It Feels Wrong To Give This Poem An Ironic Title, So I’m Just Going To Call It “Charles”

I am not the clothes I wear.

I’m not the style of my hair.

I’m not my height or weight or style,

Neither my scowl nor my smile.

All these things that you can see

Mean nothing to that which is me.

I’m what I do, or so I’ve found;

My body’s just to get around.

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