The Big DumpTruck

Ode to the Wrong Shoes

I wore the wrong shoes today
Right color, wrong brand
My eyes were tired and blurred
when I reached into the closet
hoping for the best
I found them by touch
and at first glance
saw brown shoes and ended my search.
The cuffs of my pants hang lovingly
against the top
But Wait!
These are the Wrong Shoes
They are not my really comfy Merrills
They are tight
and my big toe feels crushed
defeated
stupid brown shoes
you will pay for your sneakiness and
your harm to my toe
with your life.

Labels: fun, poetry

This is the poem I got for Mother's day this year. I did not expect a poem, but I was very happy to get it. It was written on a piece of foamy stuff with a magnet on the back so I can keep it on the fridge.

I started to write my mom a poem but it was not as good as this one so I just gave up altogether. I can honestly say that nobody has ever, ever, written me a better poem than this one, and I doubt they ever will.

My Mother's Day Poem, by Junior

My mom appreciates Mike Lowell
But I hope I make her complete
Without me there could be a hole
My mom appreciates Mike Lowell

We work together like some moles
But she also makes my heart beat
My mom appreciates Mike Lowell
But I hope I make her complete.

Labels: junior, love, Mike Lowell, poetry, Red_Sox

A million years ago (11) I had a literary zine called Block Lines. I gave it up when I got pregnant because I just didn't have the time or energy.

I still don't bit Phsntom the wonder dog has a little poetry in his soul. he has asked me to distribute his words to the masses.

WHAT'S THIS?
by Phantom

I have to pee
letmeout LETMEOUT
I am free!
what's this?

it is cold and white and it sticks to my legs in little balls
AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

letmein LETMEIN!

Labels: phantom, poetry

You know, usually this time of year, we bitch and moan and crab about how sick we are of winter, and how we wish it was April or May already. Me, I'm fondly remembering the warm, lush days of January. Whoda thunk it. Well me. I remember thunking to myself "Boy, we're going to be really sorry when all this ends and we get real winter temperatures."

My nasal passages are so angry with me, we aren't on speaking terms. I need to swing by the Hallmark Store to buy them a card.

"When you're blue
And you don't know
Where to go to
Why don't you go where saline sits
I'll give you a spritz."

I hope it doesn't have a picture of a flower on the front. My sinuses really hate flowers.

Labels: 01453, nose, poetry, winter