this poem is a happy hazard

…

it’s wearing both a caution sign, and a Ha
-kuna Matata t-shirt. it has flirted
with the idea of getting a tattoo,
but it can’t decide between the angel
wings or a skull. it’s all define me define me
but then it wants to live outside the box. wants
to throw away the box. wants to run over the
box with a Mack truck. good luck

getting to know its center, as it is currently
covered in some sort of jam, and a periwinkle
scarf. it’s part flarf, part flammable. it’s
function is to fabricate unknownness. (what?)

this poem is the butt of every joke, the chalk
outline at a murder scene, the nearest far
-fegnugen this side of the north star. you’ll
(eventually) trip over it, as it’s the elephant
in the room, but then you might just ride
it from here to kingdom come (just watch
out for ant hills. and the collection of silver
thimbles in its trunk.)

this poem is easily flummoxed by the
scent of cheese. please do not disturb it
between the hours of 2 and 3. or sometimes,
3 and 4 (some days, it’s still on daylight
savings time.) this poem might occasionally
rhyme on accident, but it’s never gonna
find its way to any sort of iambic order.
it wishes it were shorter, but it takes a
long time to say a thing when you can’t
find your index cards and have forgotten
the language of the trees. it sneezes

at least 17 times in a row, every time, and
we’re out of Kleenex. it’s being featured on the
next America’s Most Wanted and you might
also see its face on a milk carton from
time to time. it’s lost. it’s found. it’s ground
zero and patient zero and zero tolerance
and zebra striped. it’s wiped out even though
it just took a nice nap. it believes that
horizontal is a pile and vertical is a file, but
it can’t remember which way is up, or where
it put its Sunday shoes, so
some days it goes out dressed in nothing
but a

smile.

 

 

..

Prompted by Poetic Asides April PAD Challenge, day 29. 

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