I’m the youngest in my clan
Except for those I’m older than,
Like both my baby sisters, plus
Dmitri, Stanley, Juan and Russ.
And don’t forget Pascal and Roy
And Scooter…I’m the youngest boy,
I should have said. The girls all know
That I’m their little brother–though
I’m technically their senior, sure,
That’s just for primogeniture–
Right, Wanda, Bryn, Elise and Kim?
See? I’m the youngest, but for them.

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Gutter-Handed Tour

I’m satisfied;
My cat wants more.
I’d like to pause,
But she needs four.

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Sweat Shop

They promised me a cooler day–
Well, in the 80s, anyway–
So I went running after work
And it was 90! They’re a jerk.
I want a refund for the heat
And no, I don’t have my receipt!
Excuse me if I seem too vocal.
Look, I buy my weather local
‘Cause I care about my town
And now it’s gone and let me down!
Refund me, or that’s it: I’m gone.
I’ll buy my skies from Amazon.

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Bullet Dodged

I need a verse
For better, worse
Or in between,
But what I’ve seen
Tonight won’t do
To share with you.
Believe or don’t,
But this one won’t
Be half as bad
As those I had
Been working on.
Be glad they’re gone.

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Panda Pouch

The panda pouch is underrated
And its absence overstated.
Just because it’s passing rare
Non sequitur it isn’t there.
Besides which, might the mass of you
Who haven’t patronized a zoo
Where China’s not-a-bears are housed
Be likewise skeptically aroused
Concerning whether pandas are
Themselves perhaps a step too far
Along the path where dragons be
And Pushmi-Pullyus wander free?
If seeing is believing, does
The opposite hold true? Because
If that’s the case, would Uri Geller
Not exist for Helen Keller?
(A thousand melted spoons would beg
To differ.) Would a dog’s fifth leg
Be thus debunked as nonexistent
Simply ’cause it’s light-resistant?
After all, it’s plainly true
That dogs are quintipedal: You
Will grant, sans accident, I trust,
That no dog has one leg. We must
Agree that any dog, in turn,
Has four more legs than no dog. Spurn
The logic at your peril, madam:
Legs to stand on? My dog had ‘em.
Stored ‘em in her panda pouch!
Touch√©! (Which doesn’t rhyme with “ouch.”)

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The Error And The Wrong

I loosed an arrow to the sky.
It landed near some random guy
Who looked up when it hit the ground.
I ducked before he glanced around.

I whistled some distracted air:
“An arrow? What? Oh, wow! From where?”
He’s skeptical, but doesn’t know.
Thank goodness I concealed the bow.

Much later, as I watched TV,
The news showed Arrow Guy and me
Befuddled as to what occurred.
I wish I hadn’t missed that bird.

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I have a friend who thinks I’m smart.
I really hate to break his heart
But this is not a full-face mask–
Maintaining it’s a nasty task.
When its integration disses
And reveals my mental misses
I’m concerned his mind may pop
And, unlike mine, we’ll need a mop
To clean the mess his brain will make
The day he finds that I’m a fake.

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