You ask will I love you
When you’re not a young lass,
When your hair’s gray and saggy
And so is your ass,
When the passion is gone
And the money is thin
And everything hurts
‘Neath our wrinkly skin.
Our hands come together
And I look straight at you.
“Of course I will darling!
“I already do.”
Filed under Poems
I ain’t no spring chicken
But neither am I old.
I’m a 40-year-old husband
Who writes exactly what I’m told.
Filed under Poems
It’s 8:53.
I’m too tired to write good poems.
Damn, I’m getting old.
Filed under Poems
When you are but a babe
Bursting forth from mother’s loins
You know nothing about the world,
Nor, in fact, about Des Moines.
But as you grow, you learn
That, for instance, Dad’s a plumber.
You grow forever wiser
While at the same time, dumber.
You learn at one, for instance
That your body must stay clean
And when you’re put in the sink
They’re not doing it to be mean.
At the age of six or seven
You move on from baths to showers,
But you take them very quickly,
Unlike teens, who go for hours.
And sometime around age 20
You maybe fall in love,
And find new uses for the shower
As well as for that rubber glove.
And maybe when you’re 40
Amidst your midlife lull
You realize the shower
Is a gender-neutral urinal.
And by the time you’re eighty
And, in the shower, you have to sit
You wonder if that urinal thing
Also goes for…
And there you are in a nursing home.
Your mind has gone for good.
Thus endeth your enlightenment,
Or so we knock on wood.
You say I’m small and round and pink.
You’d probably say I’m cute,
But I’ll change your life ’til your naughty words
Are “darn” and “fudge” and “shoot.”
I scream and cry at random,
Especially on planes
And when I get an allowance
I’ll spend it all on trains.
When I grow up I’ll be the first
Astronaut/Magician
Unless I become a firefighter,
President, and magician.
Then when I get to college
(If that’s the path I take)
I’ll send you Facebook pictures
Of me with girls and a snake.
I’ll graduate with a B.A
In a field like liberal studies
‘Cause you funded five long years
For me and my frat buddies.
And then I’ll work for forty years
And die a tired man.
That’s why I want to skip college
And go live in my van.
Filed under Poems
Little Joey always hoped
He’d grow up strong and tall
And be the smartest in his class
And good at basketball.
Sure enough he got his wish
But his face still held a frown,
‘Cause now big Joey was a man
Who wanted to grow back down.
Filed under Poems
The Daily Travesty 