The First Laugh

bb uh-oh-ed last day.

bb's ok. urncha, bb?

more soup-rized than anything.

bb sees nom-nom uh-oh this day.

it uh-oh-ed and spilt school bus milk on it.

more soup-rized than anything.

piggies uppy uppy.

bb's plpbbt starts up to cry.

bb's up plpbbt starts up to cry.

bb's airplane runway starts up to cry.

OWOWOWOOWOWOWOWOWOW

OWOWOWOWOWOWO
OOWOWOWOOOOWOOWOWOWOAAAUAUAUAUAHHHHH

OWOWOWOWOOWOWOWOWOW

bb's clap hand clap hand clap hand.

clapping cry all done.

bb's ok.

FVç< YOU, JERKS. (An Ode to Joy)

I loved that video.

Then you emailed me an article,

exposing the artistry as a sham.
FVç< YOU, JERKS.

I was having a crappy day at work.

The line was slow.

You shouted at me and said-

not once but twice, so all could hear-

"Are you on drugs or just stupid?"
FVç< YOU, JERKS.

I choose my flavor of ice cream.

You choose yours.

You tell me how mine looks like boogers

and tastes like Idiot.
FVç< YOU, JERKS.

The movie was terrible.

I knew it.

I had fun anyway.

You snorted and

belched theorems,

declaring my fun was

totally Dark Ages.

You are the meanest Galileo.
FVç< YOU, JERKS.

My fantasy robots are still colossal!

My ice cream is smart!

I did not make the line slow!

My joy is not hurting you!

FVç< YOU, JERKS.
FVç< YOU, JERKS.
FVç< YOU, JERKS.

Re: memory.

That movie wasn't so great after all.
The one with the guy and that one girl from the other movie.
It was on some website.
I used to think it was the funniest thing I had ever seen.
I might have gone on believing that, too,
if the internet hadn't corrected me.
Thank goodness.

And that song that used to make your friends turn up the volume and squeal out the car window.
What an eye-roller.
So glad the video has been forwarded and re: forwarded
as an example of rotten taste.
Much obliged.

The Interwebitubes gleefully point out a drab, unremarkable past,
the regenerating facts, shroud a glowing, eroding memory.
It's reaffirming in a way.
What fools we were to love.
Good to know now.

But then tagged in a photograph
that I thought maybe was a fantasy,
The unicorns on my hand-me-down shirt
might just be horses,
but I'll never know.

That picture was too perfect to ever look at again.

Slide.

In my dream the other night,
I tried to write poem to you

or maybe it was about you,

to tell you that I knew how it was all going to end.

It started as I was talking in my sleep, and woke you up.
I knew what I wanted to ask,
but every....word...evaporated.

I fell off,
back into sleep,
trying to figure out the precise words to tell you
in the morning.

I thought I'd write a poem.

I noticed,
in my dream,
when was I was trying so hard
to choose the precise words,
the "T" in turbine kept transforming into a playground Slide.

A picture of a Slide,
a photo of a Slide,
a cardboard cut out of a Slide.















I really don't write poetry, I've discovered.
Being precise doesn't stand much of a chance when a Slide is right there.

Untitled (until later, possibly.)

I'm not sure I like what is happening,
whatever it is,
but I'm pretty sure the thing will pass,
eventually.

If I knew what it was,
I would like it better.

Or maybe I wouldn't.

I probably won't know until it passes,
which it might not.

But if it does,
then I will know what it is and whether or not I like it.

If I don't like it, I won't be sorry -
but if I do like it, I will be.
Sorry.

I hope I don't like it.

Undiscovered Talents

There are plenty of stories out there about a commoner - not unlike ourselves - who one day sits at a piano and writes a symphonic masterpiece. Or creates mind boggling works or art. Or discovers an equation that solves the mysteries of the universe.

I think we are drawn to such anecdotes because they offer the hope that, deep inside, there is some untapped potential. This American Life did a story on something similar - knowing only a little bit about a subject and, for better or worse, trying to use that hair's breadth of knowledge to alert the world to the special genius within.

It is in this spirit that I thought I'd try my hand at something I know almost nothing about: Haiku.

Here's what I know:

5-7-5 syllable scheme.
Some reference to nature.

Behold.

My nephew broke in
and drew on my computer.
Winter approaches.

I feel queasy from
the expired aspirin. Do
I smell burning leaves?

Stranger on the bus,
you smell just like my uncle.
Or a rotting log.

I ran out of lip
gloss. I guess I have to go
buy more Springtime now.

I didn't mean to
break your glass. Tornadoes don't
know where they're going.

Huh. Oh well...I'm sure there's a cancer cure I can whip up with some Glass Plus and vitamin supplements.