Ewe (Not Uwe Krupp)

Ewe (Not Uwe Krupp)


My indignant indecency is appeased by you
I’ve got a jalapeno nightmare that hides in my shoe
You have a chatterbox conundrum that doesn’t like to chew
And everything I don’t hate, comes from out of you.

I’m sheepishly delicious when aspartame is in my windpipe
There’s no international suspicion when the simile is overripe
Turnstile wickets and cauterized crickets, a single word can’t type
And a humble smile from you is worth the exuberant hype.

Sheep complete me, in the ring
Ewe compete me,
And flowers nary a suggestion can tell,
Arial princesses and black-cat witches
Cast their fishing lines and rest a spell,
Tumbling dryers and hoods and friars
Their cat-iron laundry cannot smell.
Uwe Krupp and his German-born skates of doom,
And Colonel Klink and his mahogany underwater sink,
The rain in Spain and Winnie the Pooh,
Cannot hold a scented candle to ewe.

Straight down to the tubular hair on my curly thin toes
And right on up to the air that arcs above my Roman nose,
There’s an aura that glows and a time-clock that slows,
An ass that chews and a cock that crows,
A lot of titular temptables that headaches and mildew spew,
But everything I don’t hate, comes from out of you.


August 17th, 2009


A silly poem. Mildly fun. Good times. When I wrote “hoods and friars” I was actually thinking of Robin Hood and Friar Tuck; though I realized that if read wrong, it could appear to be talking about kitchen appliances in a restaurant. As a note of disinterest, this poem may be the first time I have ever typed the word “overripe”.