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July 23, 2012 / Bika

Bad poems for life

Someday I’ll be tired of fart jokes and “your mom”
And “that’s what she said,” and crime-solving TV shows;
I won’t get tired of sweets, per se,
Though the same ones every day
Would certainly get old.

Someday I’ll be grown up and cranky all the time
(Oh wait…too late)
And I might start to be fond of my mustache
(We’ve been together so long, why not be friends?)

Someday I might tire of words.
But someday it ain’t, and anyway
There’ll be other things to do if I don’t write,
And people to wonder at,
And cookies to eat.
Maybe I will be
An Artiste!


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