She said, “I love your belly fat,
“Your slightly crooked nose,
“Your creepily short fingers
“And your eerily long toes.
“I love your balding forehead
“And your lazy eye as well.”
I said, “Thanks, but all that stuff
“Is nothing next to my smell.”
What wonder has a flower,
A daisy or a rose,
To the clueless human
As on its way it goes?
A work of nature, beautiful,
Is worth not but a glance
For what interest has a human
In the idle ways of plants?
But a very ugly flower
That can nauseate by sight,
That makes you want to kick a baby,
Draw attention that just might.
So when you see the spiders
Crawling from my bloodshot eyes
I seek your fondness and attention.
‘Twas not that so very wise?
The eagle sat at the tiptop
Of a cedar tree, casually preening.
The raptor had no conception
Of how the awkward arbor was leaning.
The tree had spent many hours
Under the whip of the weather.
It gave in that day, but the eagle did stay,
Saying silently “just one more feather.”
That eagle dropped seventeen stories
Without even the thought to take wing,
So focused on ridding his feathers
Of that one ugly, hard-to-reach thing.
Thus died the last beautiful eagle
And the fashionable avian gene.
That’s why eagles today are so ugly,
And really don’t like to be seen.
I’ve got a crippling fear of insects,
But that’s not much of an issue
Since I work inside a hospital
In the birthing ward.
From time to time, an ugly baby
Will burst forth into my view.
I’ll say “oh look, he’s cute as a bug,”
‘Cause it’s honest and I’m bored.