We build our lives to last
When no life ever will,
Polishing details
That only we can see.
We want to climb the ladder,
Be the king of every hill
While most things in the world
Will exist below the sea.
We bend and bleed and labor,
Flap our wings but seldom fly.
We might overcome our nature
But that is not my wish.
We could be a flying whale
But I have to wonder why
We would be unhappy whales
Instead of very happy fish.
Filed under Poems
I was a man
And she was not.
She hadn’t noticed me
But I thought she was hot.
I approached her politely
And told her “I’m Dan.”
She was, in hindsight, not pleased
So I got two years in the can.
I remember when men
Were not seen as a foe,
But not anymore
Thanks to Justin Trudeau.
Filed under Poems
Sometimes I wish I were an itch,
An itch that can’t be scratched
So I could bug the ugly thug
To whom you are attached.
Then when you were single
I would steal away your heart
And just like that eternal itch
We’d never be apart.
But eventually you’d hate me
And the scratching I’d inspire
And you’d dump me for some other jerk
Of whom you would soon tire
Then I would swoop back to you,
Your faithful little itch
And maybe this time you won’t dump me?
What do you mean my fetish is niche…
Filed under Poems
My dream is not too grandiose;
It’s simply to be less verbose.
Filed under Poems
All I want for Christmas
Is a lump of coal.
I hope I get one soon.
My only problem
Is I’m a good boy
And also that it’s June.
Filed under Poems
Though made to feed a bovine calf
We stole you from the mother,
Mixed you with bacteria
And rennet to feed another.
We formed this new more-yellow you
Into a wheel of cheese
To be sliced and melted freely
By whosoever it should please.
Your sacrifice is noted
And has brought the world much joy
And we’ll fight to keep you relevant
In a world obsessed with soy.
Filed under Poems
For a moment I sat there
With blood on my hands
Smearing life on my white-bread toast
In a room all alone
With inanimate friends
In a halfway house built for a ghost.
My Ferrari was mired
In a 90-hour week
When I needed just 12 to survive
But I’d long since stopped living
For the privilege of being
Among the elite few who can thrive.
The child in the basement
Was calling for daddy
‘Til its fat little throat had gone raw
And yet I was too busy
Helping others to join me
To notice my life had a flaw.
But if I’d payed attention,
Tasted a tomato
Or felt a moth land in my hair,
Just walked outside barefoot
Or put salt in my coffee
I’d realize somehow I still care.
I care about family.
I care about freedom.
I don’t need this bottle and pill.
And maybe that baby
Will say “taste the tomato”
And if I haven’t yet died then I will.
Filed under Poems
