Friday, April 20, 2007

Good luck trying to get my poem


The fringe of the fringe is really just the rug.

I always wanted to be one of those quirky people
who wear hats w/ the tag still hanging off.

I always thought of Mercator maps as boring
until I found out they’re controversial--
turns out, geography’s not universal

& the world’s not flat. A small-town girl
& her trusty cat know that Here be monsters,
X marks the spot, & You are here
sometimes appear on the dim mall kiosk

in place of Out to lunch or Back in five.
If this were a zombie movie, the last
out of the pool would be the last to survive.
To be the last man or woman alive would
rule, for about five. Then suck a bunch.

Faux wood paneling hugs the room;
I feel jealous. Who’s hugging me? Nobody
smart, that’s for sure. Nobody reads enough
of my diary to understand the irony.

No one uses the term “likey-dikey”
or knows who played the original Mikey.
Ordinarily, the extraordinary structure

of my sentences is overlooked & over-
fed, while I’m overworked & under-slept.

It’s hard & cold down here, under the bed.