She tells me to take things more seriously
or else no one will take me seriously.
I say, seriously?
An intervention?
She says no, no, nothing like that,
sitting in front of a banner bearing the words
INTERVENTION!!! with three
gaudy exclamations points, just like that.

god, how haven't you learned yet
to fix all your problems?
you forklift your issues, and in addition, you put on a front!
yes, all right, all right, but we’ve all got our goblins.
Not to mention your addictions - furthermore, your predelictions towards -
yes, all RIGHT, i know you’re right, but frankly, you’re a *****.
the banner flutters
to the floor.

My train of thought fell off the tracks.
I burned that bridge before I even got to it.

The clown would’ve been beaten up and down
a long time ago, if he didn't know
how to force scowls into smiles,
bafflement and battles into laughs
like startled bells and baby rattles.

Who would he be now, if he didn't know
how to play the jester, how to stitch
his words together
like the mouth of a snitch
or a quilt of dodo feathers?

He learned it from pain: how to be a joker,
how to act the fool.
Does it count, still, as stand-up comedy
if he's just crying on a stool?

bad poems
are like children:
abundant and
abundantly
annoying,
but unlike kids,
bad poems
never die.

Biscuit, no! what did you eat?
i told you not to eat raw meat!
bad dog, i should send you to the pound!
think life's hard now? well, wait it out.
you're lucky i don't throw you in a ditch.
in this house you're a female dog
but in the pound, you're some mastiff's *****.

they say "write what you know"
so here i go:

a poem a day
will turn you gay

a poem a day
keeps the ***** away