16 September, 2008

Why You Might Love Me...Or Why Not


If you don't know why I am posting this piece of poetry, or poetry in general, then you need to learn how to read blogs. You have to read them in reverse order to understand them chronologically you block head. Nonetheless, here we go.


Why You Little
Context-Write a poem as if speaking to someone.

by Logan Tanner


You pooped again. No, not you are pooped, I mean you actually pooped.
Why?
Why again is the better question.
You love that spot. It’s like your Mecca of pooping.
You poop, I scoop. You pee, I dab. You run, I chase.
Don’t you ever get tired? How do you not realize that Ikea rugs are not for pooping.
I toss you into the kitchen like a fluffy granite curling stone and you turn to me and smile.
You are, I have concluded, stupid. You probably don’t even know the obvious difference,
between bowling and curling you silly dog.
I said curling, just for your information, because a curling stone slides across the surface…
Kinda like you sliding into the kitchen and onto the rug (which you pee on too)
narrowly missing the dishwasher.
Then, like I said, you look back at me and I melt.
I hate you.
I hate you for that.
I can’t even see your eyes because your bear claw-bangs and cheek-beard,
Both curl up in unison over your eyes from above and below like the jaws of a Venus fly trap.
You…you adorable piece of crap you.
Now if only we could get your brother to behave even half as good as you.