My brother had the TV on
a horror movie marathon.
He watched “The Blob,” “The Thing,” “The Fly,”
and then “The Brain That Wouldn’t Die.”
He watched “The Bride of Frankenstein”
and “Halloween: Parts Eight and Nine”.
Then “Monsters From Beyond the Moon”
and “Creature From the Black Lagoon.”
He stayed awake throughout the night.
His eyes are glazed, he’s ghostly white.
He’s looking like a nervous heap.
He’s much too scared to go to sleep.
He’s panic-stricken, pale as death.
He’s shivering and short of breath.
So won’t you tell me, anyone,
just how come he has all the fun?
My nostril smells awesome inside of my nose,
a bit like the bloom of a newly-picked rose.
It started this morning–I couldn’t say why–
and all day it’s smelled like banana cream pie.
It has the aroma of freshly-baked bread
with hot melted butter and blackberry spread,
and maybe the breeze of a warm afternoon,
that follows a thunderstorm early in June.
It smells like a pine forest, right by a lake,
and chocolate chip cookies my mom likes to bake,
like kettle corn pop-popping over a fire,
and laundry, the moment it’s out of the dryer.
My nostril smells awesome, so I have a plan
to sit and enjoy it as long as I can.
Don’t ask how it happened; I really can’t say.
Perhaps it’s my finger that’s smelling this way.
On the thirty third of Januaugust,
right before Octember,
a strange thing didn’t happen
that I always won’t remember.
At eleven in the afternoon,
while making midnight brunch,
I poured a glass of sandwiches
and baked a plate of punch.
Then I climbed up on my head to see
the silver sky of green,
and danced around my feet because
I’d turned eleventeen.
A parade began to end
and music started not to play,
as rain came out and snowed all night
that warm and sunny day.
That was how it didn’t happen
as I keenly don’t remember,
on the thirty third of Januaugust,
right before Octember.
I’m practically perfect in every respect.
I haven’t a flaw you could ever detect.
As soon as you know me I’m sure you’ll agree
there’s no one around who’s as perfect as me.
I’m handsome and rich, with a generous heart.
I’m funny, and charming, and totally smart.
At school, in my classes, I only get A’s.
I’m also athletic in so many ways.
My clothes are expensive. My hair is just right.
My teeth are all straight, and they’re shiny and white.
I’m practically perfect. I’m sure you could tell.
And, oh, did I mention? I’m humble as well.
I’m clever whenever
there’s no one around.
Alone, on my own,
I profess I’m profound.
In private, I’m Einstein.
Secluded, I’m smart.
My genius increases
the more I’m apart.
If you think I’m clueless,
it isn’t a trick.
When people are present
I’m dumb as a brick.
But don’t think I’m daft
or not mentally sound.
Whenever I’m clever
there’s no one around.
There’s nothing like a shopping spree
to elevate my mood;
the joy of filling shopping carts with
clothing, toys and food.
I’m something of a clotheshorse;
I can never have enough.
I go out shopping every day
to buy a bunch more stuff.
I hang around the shopping mall
and corner grocery store.
I’m fond of farmers markets
and garage sales I adore.
I love the thrill of bargain hunting.
Sales are oh so nice.
You’ll find I frequent flea marts
just to haggle over price.
So if you’d like to learn to shop
but find you need a mentor,
I hope you’ll come and visit me
for I’m The Shopping Centaur.
I’m Stumblebum Stan, the Invisible Man.
How I love to draw pictures and paint.
I sell every sketch and the money they fetch
is so much you would probably faint.
I’m rather surprised, that my art is so prized
and I laugh all the way to the bank.
All the pictures I draw are exactly alike
because all I can draw is a blank.
The fanciest dancer that ever did dance
was Elmo Fernando Rodrigo McGants.
McGants did a dance that was twenty parts tango,
eleven parts polka and five parts fandango,
with thirty parts two-stepping jitterbug waltz,
a tap dance, a backflip, and four somersaults.
He spun like a top for a hundred rotations,
then swung and lambada’d with pelvic gyrations.
He rhumba’d, he mamboed, he boogied to disco,
he did the merengue from Boston to Frisco.
He limboed and cha-cha’d from China to France,
completing the world’s most intricate dance,
and all because someone put ants in the pants
of Elmo Fernando Rodrigo McGants.
My penguin looks quite dashing
in his tophat, coat and tails,
with a cummerbund from Macy’s
and a tie from Bloomingdales.
My penguin likes to party
in his dapper black tuxedo,
but whenever he goes swimming
he wears nothing but his Speedo.
Horror Movie Marathon
My Nostril Smells Awesome
On the Thirty Third of Januaugust
I’m Practically Perfect
I’m Clever Whenever
Poor Cinderella
A Centaur Goes Out Shopping
Stumblebum Stan
Fancy Dancer
My Penguin