Socialism

Gosh, I love a party! Gee,
There’s nothing quite so fun for me
Than grinning like a giddy goon
While playing with a plastic spoon
With which I scoop thick dips to drip
On plates of veggies as I sip
A plastic cup of eggnog (spiked).
I ask you, what’s not to be liked?

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We Don’t Even Have A Dog

I’m just humming in the kitchen
When I hear ‘em bust a stitch in
Where the carol stench is strong.
How my family loves a song!

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Harvey Headbanger

He bangs his head against the wall
And on the ceiling fan (he’s tall).
He bangs it on the sidewalk, too.
Don’t get too close–he’ll bang on you!
You see that dented stop sign? Guess
What happened. Was it Harvey? Yes!
He doesn’t even don a hat
To bang his head against the cat
He rescued from the walnut tree
Beside the street. It’s fun to see
A man who loves his lot in life.
I wonder if he bangs his wife?

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Not Unexpected

What’s the opposite of shocked?
A fallen power line just knocked
Your underpants atop your hat–
What word conveys the not of that?
Is there a word for, “Yeah, that’s true.
That thing they just revealed? I knew.”
How best may one express the thought
That anything but this could not
In any sentence making sense
Be predicate to that plus “hence”?
The word that springs from just that seed–
Its antonym’s the one I need.

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Altitude

The taller the person the shorter the trees
Branch-induced head bumps are like a disease
To which less altitudinous folk are immune
Even Newman the Tuneman would call that a boon

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Traffic

Two roads converged to one, grew wide,
And then expanded wider still
Till four were tracking side-by-side
Upon which four abreast could ride
Or pull the rest through wind, uphill–

What’s that up in the road, a head?
No, it’s a fork: The highway’s tines
Divide, and where the path had led
To one place, now two lead instead
To points defining tangent lines

And all at once, the two are three!
Too quickly to each overpass
And off-ramp have we come for me
But so it goes: A family
Cannot forever ride en masse

As two and one and one we wend
Our separate ways through yellow wood
And when we meet, a wall to mend
Or falling snow to watch, pretend
Less crowded roads are just as good

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Perspective

The sun goes up, the sun goes down;
At night, the other way around
Unless, of course, you’re on the sun
Which strikes me as a tad less fun
Than spinning like a dizzy chump
Upon a damp and rocky clump
Of congregated space debris
As all mankind is doing. Whee!

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