Associated Pressure
Poetry Shmoetry
by C. M Dougherty

"Poetry shmoetry," snarled the crazy old man into his bottle of malt liquor as I passed by with my hedgehog. His statement, although meaningless on the surface, really got me thinking about poets and poetry. I was mostly thinking that I didn’t know any poems outside of "There once was a man from Nantucket" and assorted poems of the "roses are red" genre that usually ended in profanity. I could only think of two poets I actually read, Yeats and Neruda, and they did nothing for me. I never used Yeats to gain favor at the soup kitchen. I never used Neruda to score with a woman. In fact most of the bruisers I know would consider knowledge of poetry a sign of weakness. I quickly came to the conclusion that maybe the hobo was right, poetry shmoetry. I couldn’t think of a single reason why poetry should have even been invented in the first place.

Anyone can come up with a string of incoherent phrases and pretend it has some profound meaning that everyone else is too stupid to get. Most poetry doesn’t even rhyme. What’s up with that? It’s no wonder most poets die penniless in a rubber room of a government run institution. Why pay for such drivel when anyone can do it? It would be like paying for a bag of leaves when you live in the middle of the Adirondacks.

I’ll bet anyone with pen and paper could crank out a dozen poems while waiting for the bus. To prove my point I will write five poems on the first five topics that pop into my head all while juggling a set of steak knives. And I’ll even do better than most so-called poets; I will give the poems real meaning and throw in a couple of good rhymes:

Penguins, Loathing, Sock with hole in big toe, Collagen lips, Stormy seas.

"Dead Leaves For Wanda - A Collection"

Penguins
Black and white
Black and white
You flightless fool
Watch out
For killer whales
They’re hungry too
Swim as fast as you might
Hoppy hop on your little flippers
How cute you're not!
Who told you so?
You wont get very far
You're a sad gimpy bird

Loathing
I’ll beat you with a tire iron
Cause I loathe you
And tis a good thing too!
For it fosters a hale and healthy heart
And puts a spring in my step
How ‘bout a little voodoo?
Why, it’s on the menu
It gives me rosy cheeks
Cause I loathe you
Whether I’m laughing at a clown
Or watching Scooby Doo

Sock With Hole in Big Toe
Hey, put that toe away!
You're scaring the kids
Clip that foul yellow claw
And make a tiny boomerang
To catch me some dinner
Meat, fish or vegetable, I don’t care
Big toe’s poking through, my good man
Like a hotdog sprouting from the mud
Or the top part of Elmer Fudd

Collagen Lips
You thin lipped sea hag
Have you heard the news?
There’s a new technique
That’s not so unique
Playing God it’s not
All right, so maybe it is
But who cares?
This is no time to be splitting hairs
Go see Dr. Pickfort Lee
Licensed in Newark, schooled Papua New Guinea
Pump it up, like Elvis sings
Costello, that is
It’s one way to land you a man
Some nice juicy lips and an awesome tan
Really turn guys on
So don’t be shy
Do it now
Or lonely you’ll be,
When you die

Stormy Seas
The rocks whisper to the raging sea
"Nice try bud-dy"
The sea returns with twice its might
The rocks say, "Ha ha! Get a life!"
The sea grows angry and tries some more
The rocks say "There’s no chance you’ll even the score"
The sea gets tired and goes to bed
The rocks get bored and they go to bed too

The hobo was right. The flan was excellent. Dead leaves for everyone. Fill your pockets, roll around in a big pile with your friends, but watch out for the dog poop.