Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
A boy wrote a poem and he called it "Chops
Because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him and A and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door and
Read it to all his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
With tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
And he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it
Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
He wrote a poem and he called it "Autumn"
Because that was the season and that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
And asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
Because of its new paint
That was the year his sister got glasses
With thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
When he asked her to go see Santa Claus
Once on a paper torn from his notebook
He wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
Because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
And a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
Because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
Or even talked
And the girl around the corner wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
But he kissed her anyway
Because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself in
His father snoring soundly
That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
He tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
And a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door because this time
He didn't think he could make it to the kitchen
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YOU ARE READING
I Have These Thoughts So Often
PoetryWhen I think too often, this is what sort of crap "poetic" stuff I come up with. Maybe you will like it.