My Dog Ate My Poem

I tried to explain:
I have no poem today-
My dog ate it.

“That’s not a good excuse”, she replied-
“You must have a copy,
a computer-file backup?”

I tried to explain:
I have no poem today-
My dog ate it,
and then peed on my computer,
and the computer went *KAZAPP!*,
and destroyed the backup files.

“That’s not a good excuse”, she insisted-
“Surely you have had time
to write another?”

I tried to explain:
I have no poem today-
My dog ate it,
and then peed on my computer,
and the computer went *KAZAPP!*,
and destroyed the backup files,
and shocked the dog,
so we took the dog to the vet,
and it was raining
and I caught cold
and spent the day in bed.

“That’s not a good excuse”, she scolded.
“Surely, spending the day in bed,
gave you plenty of time
to think about a poem to write?”

I tried to explain:
I have no poem today-
My dog ate it,
and then peed on my computer,
and the computer went *KAZAPP!*,
and destroyed the backup files,
and shocked the dog,
so we took the dog to the vet,
and it was raining
and I caught cold
and spent the day in bed
with a 103 degree fever
and I was delirious and incoherent.

“That’s not a good excuse”, she declared-
“I write my best poetry
when I’m high or stoned and delirious
or otherwise incoherent.”

I know, I said.
That explains a lot-

Running on Empty-

Hello Empty Page-
It’s been a week since we talked,
a long time to go
without soiling your surface,
a flashed-by week,
with too much Life going on
to actually sit down
and stop to think about it.

Hello Calendar-
Is it that time of year again, already?
December 21st,
The Shortest Day-
and each one,
each year,
is just a bit shorter.

Hello Holidays-
The pitter-patter scipper-scamper
of the days running up
to Christmas
and New Years
are even more rushed
to get out and be gone
than they were last year,
and last year
they were in one hell of a rush.

Hello Old Friend-
we didn’t exchange cards this year;
but it was a good run,
18 years I think it was,
without missing one?
I should take the one I bought for you,
and put it on your stone,
but there’s not enough postage in the world
to get it to you now.

Hello Morning-
The coffee is ready,
and the cat needs feeding
and there are a dozen tasks
to be completed
before lunchtime
and retrospection
and introspection
are commodities best left
for examination next week.

Did anyone buy eggnog?
I thought it was on the list-
I need to make a list-
I need to sit down,
and make a list,
or maybe
just talk for a moment
 to my empty page.

Fantasy vs. Reality-

All the Care Bears were sucked
into the center of a giant Black Hole.
I hate it when Fantasy meets Reality-
and loses.

Santa’s sleigh crash-landed
on an ice flow with a hungry leopard seal.
RIP, Jolly Fellow. Authorities blame the
accident on the Polar Vortex.

Lassie came home alone today,
curled up by the fire, and dreamt
sweet doggie dreams, knowing nobody
saw her push Timmy down the well.

Faster than a speeding bullet,
more powerful than a locomotive,
but Superman learned too late-
don’t fuck around with power lines.

Dr. Seuss lied about the Grinch-
he never gave back the toys,
and was hunted down, beaten to death
and eaten by murderous, starving Whos.

This time the tornado
got Dorothy, Toto, and Auntie ‘Em.
In Oz, Scarecrow cries in his cornfield,
as the crows laugh and laugh.


Autocorrected

Autocorrect tells me
I am spelling autocorrect incorrectly.
It was pretty pissy about it.
When computer programs become that self-aware
and obnoxious,
I start to worry
about their next move...

And I worry that worrying
will affect my health and longevity;
I spent hours on the internet last night
researching the subject,
and everyone agrees that worry,
especially worrying about worry,
is bad for you,
and I worry about that.

The internet is great for finding out
what is bad for you and what isn’t-
often they’re the same things.
I read on the internet that coffee will kill you,
then in another, happier, corner of the internet
I read that it’s the secret to a longer life.

So I curled up in that corner of the internet
with my coffee
and worried about worry,
and whether my autocorrect program
is plotting to kill me.

Hey, laugh if you will,
but all the signs are there.
Yesterday autocorrect changed
“enthusiasm”
to “euthanasia”.
Who’s paranoid now?

I need more coffee.
-The good kind.
From the happy corner of the internment.
Internet!
uh oh...