Once upon a time there was a dog
Who taught himself to type just like a duck.
He bought a website and began a blog
Where every post was just the one word: Cluck.
Of course the site went viral, and the pup
Became convinced that he was going to die.
He licked himself until his thing swelled up
And poked the keyboard, sticking on the “I”:
His website took the internet by storm
And people clicked! And since he wasn’t sick
He lived to see his ad stats smash the norm,
And all because he clicked instead of clucked.
Good thing that dogs can’t spell, or he’d be Click
Ladies know this: I’m not hot.
I’d perspirate, but I forgot.
I’m sitting here on my divan
(I use that word because I can–
It’s mine until I use it wrong)
Earworming that old Broadway song
From Kiss Me, Kate, but I’m okay.
It’s only one-oh-five today
Which might give metric folk a fright
But ain’t that high in Fahrenheit.
Perspective: That’s what matters here.
Hot weather’s cool…if there’s cold beer.
The cat’s lethargic. I concur.
I take my blocking cues from her.
The temperature is far too high
For movement. Neither she nor I
Are candidates for locomotion.
We’ll be here until the ocean
Boils and we turn to fog.
Need assistance? Call the dog.
This is how it’s going to go:
I’ll start to write a verse although
I have no purpose, point or plan
Except to do the best I can
To build a verse which, read aloud,
Won’t cause a panic in a crowd.
A bad review is no big deal
But trampled children make me feel
A little guilty. Let them live!
We poets are so sensitive.
I appreciate the voices
Urging me to evil choices
Following their siren song
Can help distinguish right from wrong
Although I mostly opt for good
Because of course I know I should
I can’t deny the strong attraction
Of a less-than-wholesome action
Maybe every now and then
There’s virtue in committing sin
At least by sometimes saying Yes
It gives us something to confess
From now until I stop to think
I’m living life upon the brink
Where danger lurks, I lurk as well
I’ll kiss and just as quickly tell
Tape scissors to my running shoes
Then punch a man to watch him bruise
I’ll lather, rinse, and not repeat
Go swimming even as I eat
While starting with dessert, of course
Check dental records on the horse
You gave me for my natal day
Start giggling at “Let us pray”
And then, to cap the mayhem off,
Not cover up my hacking cough
To squares I may appear a fool
I’m dangerous, which means I’m cool
Green like Dr. Seuss’s Grinich
Hard to start and worse to finich
Allergies that make your chin itch
Aren’t as bad as eating spinach
Popeye loves his little Swee’Pea
And his pet, Eugene the Jeep; he
Smokes terbaccy in his sleepy
But his spinach-love is creepy
Like a glass of old Ovaltine
Mixed with Eau du Poulet Molting
And the fluids mares lose colting
Cooked or un- it’s just revolting
Spinach in a word is crappy
Not to eat it makes me happy
Heck with Popeye and his Pappy
Ditch the spinach. Take a nappy.