January 27, 2010

I am not willing 

to wander through 

three hundred

thirty

eight

more days

with my eyes closed.

Resolutions are overrated.

Living life 

(while awake)

is not.

Ode to a Fart

This is an ode to the "sweetest" of deeds,

A bodily function so awesome, it needs

A tremendous tribute, which I will here impart:

That glorious, uproarious thing called a fart.

Too many times, I'd be sitting in class

When, wouldn't you know it, a big ball of gas

Would come rumbling out from the depths of my tummy.

All but the teacher would think it was funny.

The mind-blowing names for this feat, so diverse,

Nearly rob me of skill to do justice in verse:

Air biscuit, breezer, beef, and one-cheek-sneak;

Room-clearer, honker, trouser trumpet, and squeak;

Ass-rumbler, cheek-flapper, letting it rip;

Pant-ripper, poot, toot, butt mutt, and air tulip.

Heiny burp, back draft, and buttock bassoon;

Bottom blast, rip ass, and a little boom-boom;

Dutch oven, funky roller, and Smelly McSniffed;

Rumble-fluff, wet one, butt pancake, and 'pfffffft.'

And just when you thought all the names were too small:

'I stepped on a fart snake.'  It just says it all.

But the Grand Prize of Fart Names, it goes to my mom,

Who'd redden with shyness when she'd drop a bomb

Of wet stinky inky, and--no, I'm not goofing--

She'd blush, and then giggle and say, "Oops, I'm FLOOFING."

And thus, I say, no matter which way you spin it,

The world is the richer with flatulence in it.

So the next time you feel one a-brewin', take pride,

Stand with feet firmly planted, and cheeks open wide.

Windy Dreams

The wind was blowing
My car had been towed
Or stolen
Whatever
It was missing

In my dream I was eating alone
In a Mexican restaurant
The waitress asked me what I wanted
When I asked for plain enchiladas
She said they had tomato and cheese

I said "OK"
She brought these little sliced zucchini
Warm and cooked
With melted cheese
It wasn’t until after eating them all, that I discovered the tortilla

Just like that
It blew in and blew out
Leaving behind
Traces

Just traces
Of life
Space
Dust
And tap shoes

They were the kind
That were shiny
with the pink ribbons
Every girl's second grade dream
Clinking down the hall

To dance class
With hopes that
She would be noticed
Complimented
On style and form

Where they came from can only be guessed at
They wanted to belong
To that one
The one with the blonde pigtails
And slightly awkward gait

Pick me
And just like that
They, and she
Vanished

With the wind