THREE MORE FOR NATIONAL POETRY MONTH

Well, National Poetry Month ends at midnight, and I feel it deserves a little more attention.  And I haven’t posted anything humorous for a while.  So let me share three humorous poems (would be four, but I’ve already posted Staring Up Mrs. Brown’s Skirt)–all of which I wrote over twenty years ago (hence the juvenile humor):

Rushing

Scott ____

Vanguard, October 10, 1989:

This fall, more than 260 students

Attended the mutual process of membership selection

Consisting of scheduled functions

In which active members of fraternities and

New prospects become acquainted.

This process is known as formal rush.

I was there, I’m a student

But still not Greek.

I just went

To pick up big-boobed babes

Drink free beer

Piss in the dark

And go home.

Greek formal rush is more fun

If you’re not.

 

A Dog Trying to Pick up a Cat

Scott ____

There you are, with your nose in the air

What’s it like to think you’re the fairest of the fair?

My breath stinks, but I smile alot

Don’t put me down for the pout I’ve got.

To woo the humans with my scratching claws

Or to the Milk Bone box for my giant jaws.

You pounce and flit and disappear

While my master’s voice rings through my ear.

You’re not fond of me

Well let it be.

The world is my slave

And kindness is a wave

Pushing you out the door

When you’ve missed, and hit the floor.

Don’t come to me like a bad fur-do

My nose can stick up too.

 

To a Cockroach

Scott ____

How dare you stare at me

In such a personal way

As if your queen, or whatever

Sent you. 

Older than the dinosaurs

You’re a shit-brown tank

Without guns, but worse

You can fly.

What purpose have you

But to feed the frogs

And terrorize my sister?

Oh yes, I will swat you.

First let me see your face.

Countenance of a mantis

What-little-me look of a cricket.

What gaul you have to resemble either

When all you kill is my last nerve

All you sing a mechanical silence

You have ten seconds to give me

A good reason for your existence . . .

Time’s up, as you crawl toward my cookie crumbs.

SPLAT!

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