Because there really isn’t enough poetry about snot–especially cute kitten snot. You’re welcome.
This is from a poetry class exercise about rhythm. So where this piece lacks subtlety and complestication (you know, complexity and sophistication, right? Try to keep up), which you’ve come to expect from me already, it totally makes up for it with its hip swinging, bass thumping, nose running beat! I’m just warning you so you don’t break out in dance in a public place and embarrass yourself. Like I do. More often than I care to admit. I don’t want to talk about it.
If only I could play the bass, turned up to 11, jamming on a stage with a hundred sniffling kittens dancing at my feet, all going “da-dum, da-da-dum, da-da-dum-dum … da-da-dum, da-da-dum, da-da-dum-dum, … “. I really do need to call my agent and go on the road with this. It’s amazing I’m not disgustingly rich yet, right??
lyrics poem goes something like this . . .
My kitty thinks he’s a bloodhound.
His snuffling search for an answer
to questions no one can fathom.
Dysfunction? Yes, I am certain!
If searching brings him some wisdom,
I’ll notice that in a second.
His tiny nose not designed for
the dusty task undertaken,
he suffers bad from congestion.
Who suffers more though I’m asking?
He’s clever where he expels it,
A target never too distant.
Nothing is safe from his sneezes.
Could it be premeditation?
Happenstance can’t be the reason.
An ankle, a hand;
computer or phone;
my homework or book.
There isn’t a thing
that’s safe from the goo
that spews from that nose!
An artist working his canvas
evolving patterns of snot-blobs
that dry upon my computer.
Why does he do this?
Is it just sharing?
Love can be gross I assure you.
I’m not so crazy to think it—
alone I’m not, for his sister
will often stare at him puzzled.
Apparently my agent had too many margaritas for lunch, because she totally didn’t get the sheer awesomeness of the kitten rock concert idea. She also told me to stop calling her with dumb ideas and assuming I have an agent just because I can call one. I’m thinking my lawyer has been calling around and playing a joke on me, because I called him a brontosaurus’s adenoid last night.
I meant it in a good way.