Drunk Dialed

Phone ringing while I’m out and about
I think there must be some tragedy
For in all these years of knowing you
You have never once called me

So I get home and rush through dinner
Making sure to call you back
You sound cheery, a bit too much
And then you start to yack

I ask you how you’re doing
You giggle like a child
You tell me all about Jell-o
And how it's just so wild

You talk about the economy
How you could solve it all
How if everyone had listened to you
There never would have been a fall

You tell me that you have a friend
His name is Mr. Grey Goose
And then I start to realize
That you’re drunk off your caboose

Then I know that I am stuck
Talking to your drunk ass
Because you never even stop to breathe
Much less give me room to sass

My mind wanders and I think
How can I get out of this?
How can I say I have to go
And not dent your drunken bliss?

I think about just hanging up
Just saying that my phone died
You probably won’t remember later
You’d totally let that slide

But then I catch a break
When you sound a little bit odd
And I know that you are
Bowing down to the porcelain god

So I’m sorry for your misfortune
And I didn’t mean to flee
I only feel a little bad
That your vomiting set me free

Haiku for a Bitch

You must kiss my ass
PMS incarnated
Your mood taints my calm

Turdburglar

Okay, I'd like to offer some context to this one so that my many, many readers won't think I am an all out potty brain. Years ago, I worked at a place that shall remain nameless. There were about 17 of us at this unnamed place and to this day I have no idea who the offender was--and I don't want to know. Someone in that building was a poo streak leaver. Now, I know about the whole everybody poops thing and all of that. I don't mean to be crude. But I just got a bit affected by the daily poo streaks and the fact that they always seemed to be waiting just for me so I wrote a little poem about it. This was indeed the first poem I wrote in this vein. My original intent was to perhaps woodburn this poem onto a quilted maple plaque in fancy, cursive script and hang it up in the bathroom, but I chickened out and squirreled the poem away and I think I only ever showed one other person this little gem...until now!

Turd Streak

I came into work early this morning
No one thought to give me warning
That I might walk in here and see
A turd streak left from you for me
I doubt you thought about that skid
Or knew it would have the effect it did
I don't mean to embarrass or poke fun
But want to request if you are the one
That you turn around each time you flush
If you leave a streak, please use the brush

Blogging is Hard

Okay, so in my mind, setting up a blog and having one million people reading it within the span of a week seemed totally plausible. Totally! Well, I suppose I knew that wasn't how it all worked, but I was hoping. If you have clicked into my sad little links on Facebook, thank you! I really super dooper appreciate your support and hope you will keep clicking in. If you haven't, well, you should. If anyone has tips on how to grow a blog, please leave comments or write me. I am very n00b at all of this.

I wanted to take a break (a break from my two poems so far) and tell my one reader a little something about myself. Currently, I am a stay-at-home editor and writer. What does that mean? It means I spend literally 99% of my day glued feverishly to my laptop. I don't sleep. I don't eat. I wake up, sit down at the laptop, and either start reading or writing. Every day. All day. And, yes, it is totally exciting.

Actually, sometimes it's not exciting, which is exactly why this blog was born. I have been craving a project, a little excitement, a little something-something to shake up my day. So, naturally, I started a blog because it is on my laptop and involves reading and writing. What else is there?

Ballad of Bin Laden

He rose from the desert

He lived in a cave

He wore a great turban

And knew not how to shave

He looked to America

Didn’t like what he saw

Thought he would fix

What he thought was a flaw

He plotted with bombs

And plotted with planes

He created great sorrow

In our ass, a great pain

O fallen terrorist, O fallen foe

All you’ve achieved with your evil manner

Is that all travelers

Must go through a scanner.

Thanks so much, douche wad

For slowing me down

Each and every time

I head out of town.

Now thousands are dead

And, look, you are as well

And here I am left

Growing a tail.

Casey Anthony

We all know you did it, we all know you lie

The questions are burning—we want to know why

You partied too hard and it melted your brain

But it’s unlikely you’ll be labeled insane

Too bad for you; there was never a Zanny

You totally fabricated a nanny

You never worked at Universal Studios

Mostly you worked at being a ho

You never were girlfriend to Jeffery Hopkins

And very much to your sad chagrin

You were never friends with Juliette Lewis

They were just part of your mental abyss

We will all see if there was really abuse

Any truth behind your self-styled noose

Under layers of Xanax and drugs and sex

Somewhere in there is a cache of facts

Whether we all will ever find out

Make no mistake and leave no doubt

Somewhere in there you remember Caylee

Just tell the truth and honor her memory.

The caffeine made me do it.

The premise to this blog is simple—I drink caffeine, I write poems. It’s been a hobby of mine for years and I have finally decided that I want to share it with the world, or at least my little corner of the Internet. I am very sensitive to caffeine and have a love-hate relationship with it. It feeds the madness, so I enjoy drinking it, but also feel kind of bad for the people who have to see me regularly and have to put up with my two caffeine modes—endless chatter or haggard caffeine drop. Fortunately, I am not very social so those people are relatively few.

I intend to do two kinds of poems here—newsy crap and little silly poems. I like to make fun of the news, of other people, of myself. Sometimes I like to have deep thoughts, too, but not often. If you are easily offended or don’t care for occasional crude language, please look away.

I am also very interested in poem requests or suggestions. Feel free to email me or comment me with ideas and somewhere around my next cup of caffeine, I will see what I can do.

You are welcome to share the poems via Facebook, Twitter, etc, but please include a link with the poem if you do. Sharing is caring, but no profiteering off of the poems.