at The Parlor. Second place!
My poem was awful.
So awful, I think
I'll share it with you so you
can see for yourself:
Romantic Rhyming Remains Obfuscated
Roses are red,
violets are blue,
Your heart is made of polyethylene teraphylate
Which, btw, is a plastic used in making soda bottles that, when dumped into bodies of water, causes sex changes in fish.
(Enjoy a torso full of mutant fish babies)
Roses are red,
violets are orange,
if a train left St. Paul at five o’clock going 75 miles an hour due east
and another train left Buffalo at 4:30 going 85 miles an hour due west
and you decided to take a nap right at the intersection where the two proverbial trains from the high school math problem were going to collide,
I wouldn’t even send a carrier pigeon to tell you that you were about to become a pancake.
Roses are red,
violets are only partially green,
and I think you might be a robot.
(You know, because only a man with a heart made of tungsten would let a peach like me get away)
Roses are red,
violets are probably more purple than blue,
You know what happened when you were busy self-absorbing?
Mubarak stepped down and ushered democracy into Egypt. No big.
Roses are red,
Violets are meat-colored.
I made you dinner how many times
And you still ended up acting like Jamaican chicken?
Roses are red,
and sometimes they’re yellow.
If a bad poem is recited in an empty room,
Is it still a bad poem?
