Today I went into J’s office to get away from the stresses of my job for a few minutes. He was messing with my boss C - giving her a hard time about her swearing too much. Though it goes against my policy of using real names on the blog, I think it’s too good not to share.
There once was a lady named Crystal
She really was quite a pistol.
If I had a dollar
For each curse word she hollered
By noon I’d have a fist full.
I didn’t want today to go by without a post so here’s a poem I wrote years ago.? I remember penning the first draft of this in my American Lit II text book while waiting to have tires installed.
Service Station Lounge Reflections
The slim girl silently shifted from one foot to the other
Sipping the icee she had begged her mother for until
They were both almost to the point of tears.
Now that she had her way, she stood and observed
The man with the handlebar mustache,
Secretly hoping that he would twist it with
The hand that he was not using to adjust his crotch.
A young couple came in loudly,
Distracting the girls attention from the man.
They were so in love.
The girl dreamed of the man that she would one day love.
She hoped he would have a mustache.
I wrote this one just after I finished reading Bob Dylan’s Tarantula. If you’ve never read it you should give Chronicals Vol. 1 to get an idea of how Bob writes. Neither one is an easy read but at least Chronicals isn’t sureal.
So I can’t remember my reasoning behind the spacing. I guess I was trying to be William Carlos Williams or T.S. Eliot. Seguir leyendo »
