I've Never

I've never been to Nebraska.
I've never built a bomb.
I've never swam the Atlantic
or drank a rabbit's blood.
There's a lot I haven't done.
I've never jumped off a roof.
I've never kissed a pig
or slept with Winnie the Pooh
or learned the Watusi.
I've never worn a fez or taj
or wrapped myself in silk.
I've never bathed a camel
or eaten a poison mushroom.
I've never met Willie Nelson
or felt the urge to tango.
I've never liked pea soup.
I've never been to Iraq
or walked along the equator.
I've never run off with the circus
or camped in the Petrified Forest.
I've never joined the ACLU,
nor have I ever needed a shiv.
I've never been to a powwow
or seen 'possums having sex.
I've never visited New Jersey
or written a poem that ends with Z.

Really, I haven't.

Inspiration

I wish I could end this
Nagging dread, send this
Soul-sucking apathy packing,
Pick up a pen, and piss
Inspired words across the page.
Retched poetry is a sloppy kiss,
Aversion therapy, dying bliss.
There must be something
Inspirational, something good
Out there waiting for me, but
Nothing comes to mind.

Deep-dyed Blue

Momma was born with frown lines,
and Gramma cried for eighty years;
so, even if you drench me
with a thousand brilliant smiles,
I'll never be anything
but deep-dyed blue.

Labor Day

Saltwater taffy days end in September.
Part-time carnies pack up their wits,
wheels, and stuffed tabby cats,
and the clowns stow their smiles,
while nervous teens trade rollercoaster screams
and fireworks for study hall, chalk dust,
and twelve days of Christmas.