I have no idea what my inspiration was for this one, it was a stream of consciousness exercise and this was the result:
It’s a Long Story
Rubbing the sleep
from my eyes
I accidentally
popped an eyeball out.
It plopped onto the table
rolling through
spilled salt and
bread crumbs.
I made a grab for it
but it fell
off the edge to the floor
with a thud,
glancing off my foot,
sliding across the linoleum
and under the refrigerator.
I heard chattering
and a mouse
ran past me
carrying my eye
in its mouth.
I chased it
around the kitchen
but eventually
the mouse disappeared
behind the cabinets.
Frantically I threw open
every door,
saw the vermin drop
behind the sink
and out through
a hole in the floor.
So if you see me
please don’t ask
about the golf ball
in my right socket.
It’s a long story.
This next one started with the title. I overheard someone say this and it struck my ear as interesting. I wrote it down and then created this poem based on that title:
Interview as Conversation
So tell me, why did you leave your last job?
The pending
criminal charges made it awkward around the office.
I bet. Do you have experience in accounting?
Sure, I’ve been a
counting all my life: 1, 2, 3, I’m good at it.
Excellent. Hmmm. We’ve covered your arrest, was that a
misdemeanor or a felony?
Oh felony. I
don’t do things halfway.
I like that spirit. Tell me, why do you think you would fit
in here?
Your ad says this is only a temporary
position . . . and in 3 months I’ll be working in
the Pennsylvania penal
system.
Another good point. You are a sharp one.
Thank you. So do
I get the job?
Oh no. No, no. Not a chance.
Huh. Well I’ve
already got one felony on my record . . .
This last one I wrote a long time ago. I've always loved it for some reason although no one else seems to. It's been rejected probably a dozen times. No matter, I still love it:
In for a Penny
Three blind mice
carrying plague-infected fleas
with a seeing-eye cat
who owed them a favor,
on the prowl
for the farmer’s wife.
They find instead, a crowded pub
and go in for a drink.
The fleas scatter.
Within days
dozens are sick
and officials blame the pickled eggs.
So, tell me. Just how funny, silly, or stupid are these poems?
