It's That Time Again

Yes, Dear Friends, it's time for another crappy poem. But first, I'd like to tell you a funny little story. One of those stories that's funny in the sense that it is completely humiliating to me.

Mr. Right's Aunt H was to our house for a visit one time. We were discussing writing as Aunt H is quite an established writer and has been published. I told her that I dabbled in poetry and she asked if she could read some of what I'd written. "Well!" I told her, "I just happen to have all of my poems bound in this nifty notebook!" As Aunt H sat in the corner (not literally) and read my illustrious body of work, the rest of us in the room chatted away. About fifteen minutes later, Aunt H quietly closed the notebook and folded her hands on top of it. She caught my eye and looked at me in all seriousness and said, "You should write greeting cards."

Now, I don't know how you would have interpreted that, but I almost spewed Diet Dr. Pepper out of my nose. Fifteen years of pouring all of my artistic angst into my poetry and Aunt H reduces it to, "You should write greeting cards."

I thought for one brief moment about telling her that I was in fact a published author as well. I thought better of it quite quickly as I didn't think she'd be much impressed by the fact that one of my poems had been published in a local Oklahoma paper called, The Red Dirt Review. ( I mean, how redneck is that?) The other was published in an ever so classy staple bound half-book called, Voices From The Valley, which was another local publication. (I did, however, receive a royalty check for $7.00 from that one. Does this mean I've lost my amateur status?!)

Anyway, Aunt H ended all hope for me of ever being anything but a hack. The following crappy poem is one of about five that I wrote, egotistically thinking what marvelous children's books they'd make. (Maybe I should write greeting cards for children...)

To the moon and back on a witch’s broom,
Is what I’d rather be doing instead of cleaning my room!

Mom sent me in here to clean up the mess,
But there are so many things I could be doing instead.

I could make some tea to serve to my bear,
And bake a cake and comb my doll’s hair.

I could be a ballerina and dance ‘round the floor,
And bow to the crowd as they let out a roar!

I’d rather do anything but clean my room-
Like play the drum in a band...boom, boom, boom!

Or join the circus and ride an elephant’s back-
And swing from a trapeze and hear the crowd clap!

If I weren’t in here having to clean this place,
I could be swinging from stars and twirling through space.

I could be on safari feeding giraffes-
Swinging with monkeys and making hyenas laugh.

I’d rather be splashing in the puddles outside,
Or going head first down a fifty- foot slide!

Oh the things I could do, I could sing, I could dance-
Sail the ocean so blue and stomp grapes in France!

I could be a fairy princess in a shiny pink dress...
Hey! I hear Mom coming! I’d better get busy,
My room is a MESS!

So, I'm sure you want to go get drunk now. I know I sure do.