I flirted with death
When I ran a red light.
Death tweeted #Metoo
‘Cause I’m male and white.
Tag Archives: Short
Microaggressions
I told my friend “good morning”
And they just said “morning” back
Which makes me wonder what I did
To deserve that sort of attack.
——————————————————–
He said “My pronoun’s potato
“Instead of he, him, and his.”
I mumbled “What isn’t a pronoun”
And he shouted “Yes, what is!”
——————————————————–
I ate dessert for breakfast
Though I don’t know how or why;
I made some scrambled eggs
But they identified as pie.
Filed under Poems
Horror Movies
Steve wanted to scare me
So he said “Guess what’s groovy?
“In ten years they’ll probably
“Make Jenga: The Movie.”
I wanted revenge,
To give Steve what was due,
So I said, “In twelve years
“They might make Jenga 2.”
Filed under Poems
Extremely Forced Naughty Jokes Are Tight!
It might mean very different things
When I say to my girlfriend
“I still can’t understand you,”
Followed by: “Come again?”
Filed under Poems
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!
Filed under Poems
They Called It “Animal Control Headquarters”
I went to the zoo.
There was only one dog there.
It was a shih tzu.
Filed under Poems
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.”
Filed under Poems
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.
Filed under Poems
Now Things Are Getting Escalated
I have a confession to make
I’m guilty of a crime:
I stole a staircase yesterday.
I took it one step at a time.
Filed under Poems
Dear People Whose Paintings Hang On The Walls Of Banks And Hotels…
Some people think art
Is how the heart speaks
And I think the heart’s saying
“Dude, your paint bottle leaks.”
Filed under Poems
