“Hey, Kate, how come you never write poetry?”
-No one
Come here. Closer. Let me show you something. No, not that close. It’s fairly horrible, you don’t want to step in it.
I found this while I was organizing my old journals. Why was I doing that? Because I’m a master procrastinator, that’s why. This is something that I wrote while I was in the hospital after I had a baby, way back in 2005. True, I was on drugs (and we’ve all seen what those do to me), but that’s no excuse.
This is why I don’t write and post poetry. *ahem*
MEATLOAF
(to my dinner)Lumpy loaf that’s made of meat,
I fear you are not fit to eat.
Drowning in your gravy mess,
Of what you’re made, I cannot guess.
What meat is grey? With specks of green?
None on earth that I have seen.
Meatloaf, meatloaf, go away,
remain there on your hospital tray
Go back to the “kitchen” from whence you came,
loaf of meat that cannot be named.
When I wrote this, I laughed so hard I almost busted my stitches. Drugs are bad, mmmkay? So’s my poetry. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
But feel free to use this to frighten trick-or-treaters on Halloween! 😀
disregard the prologue 