Thirty-seven dollars in nickels
Rolled into neat little stacks:
I’ll use them to buy some dill pickles
To eat for my mid-morning snacks.
I’ve got a compulsion to do this,
Though no logic yet as to why.
Perhaps I just want the grocers
To think of me as “that guy.”
Filed under Poems
Why must titans always clash?
Why can’t they just get along?
Titans could have tea and cake.
What about that is so wrong?
Why must titans always fight?
There’s other things for them to do
Like fly a pretty titan kite,
Play titan games, or make a stew.
If you’re a titan reading this
En route to your next clashing spot
Please know that you are not defined
By your ability to crush a big robot.
And if you’re a non-titan bloke
Just casually reading ’cause you’re bored
Don’t try to unclash titans too
‘Cause most likely you’ll just be ignored.
Filed under Poems
You can’t mock someone ’cause they’re fat,
Ugly, stupid, stuff like that.
You can’t make jokes about a race
(At least not to somebody’s face).
You can’t gay-bash, slut-shame, or mock
The way one laughs or thinks or talks.
But you can defame or spew hate at
Those with neckbeards or a fedora hat.
Filed under Poems
I don’t want to be a gastroenterologist.
As a career I vehemently denounce it,
But should fate make me a gastroenterologist
I guess at least I’d learn how to pronounce it.
Filed under Poems
This evening we sit
In memory of
A weekend that
We came to love.
‘Twas two days long,
Five days too short.
Why’s there no satisfying
Single player sport?
Filed under Poems
Monday through Friday
My heart’s only dread
Is that midmorning song
That says “get out of bed.”
Yet come days of Satur
And as well days of Sun
My heart sings in the morning
‘Til the day is all done.
For when clocks of alarm
Cracks serenity’s hold
And says “put on your clothes
“And go do what you’re told”
My vigor and pep
Aren’t what they used to be
Like when I was a child
And still blissfully free.
When instead of alarms
To the sun I awaken
And instead of my job
I get pancakes and bacon
My bliss flows more freely
And I feel stronger.
From now on I’ll work weekends
And be miserable longer.
Filed under Poems
Chapped lips, dry skin,
Hair without a bobby pin,
Baggy pants, hairy pits,
A shirt that hides any sign of tits,
Spotty face, mustache line,
Eau de toilette called “big ass pine,”
A house that others call a sty:
Just another great day of being a guy!
Filed under Poems
