online literature since 2007

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Dajjal Uses A Bell Curve

So I rang her doorbell,
And her mother was there.
“Hi, you must be Dale.”
“Yes, I’m here for Maryann.”

“Well come on in,”
“She’ll be down soon.”
There was a family portrait
Out on some lawn somewhere.

She was a lawyer,
Private practice and all.
Then, she officially became,
Parent association president.

“I hope I wasn’t too long.”
I change lanes, “of course not.”
“I know my mother can be nosy,”
“No, she was very nice.”

I have a bowl of soup,
And the table is round.
The waiter doesn’t bring crackers
And I’m not supposed to expect any

So the 100% orange juice
I could swear has orange peel,
And I still haven’t figured out,
Which damn spoon to use.

And not to mention the salad,
Haven’t touched it.
If you saw me there
You’d think I pissed my pants

The lady across is waiting.
She’s looking at my soup,
And her eyes are the positive
To my negative ones

The clink scratches
Of the spoon against my bowl,
The spoon I miney moed,
Are my nails on her board.

“So how’s your salad”
“It’s good, how’s the soup?”
“Fine, just fine.”
Then some more scratches.

She’s some sort of historian.
See she did art history in college,
And now she categorizes stuff;
Or something like that.

The movie was terrible,
The plot was wack,
And the artistes are all waiting
For the other to act.

The popcorn was stale,
The chairs are stiff,
And my neck is tight.
Thank god it’s the end.

We said our goodbyes,
She slipped through the door.
There was relief on both sides
Yet neither had won

So now, I really didn’t feel too bad.
I decided, to hell with it,
I will deceive them all;
And boy do I have stories to tell

An eye patch and a pen,
I will steal their opportunity,
And who cares if one eye
leaves me alone


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