Ode to the Suck.

This is a poem about things I don’t like.

It’s not about love or a trail you can hike.

I’m diving in deep to the stuff that just sucks.

Like spiders and 2 ton death wielding semi-trucks.

I don’t know why I decided to rhyme

Maybe I thought it’d add whimsy, turn a nickel to a dime.

Let’s start with biting your tongue when you’re in mid story

Or getting carded at 23 to see an R-Rated movie

When you watch your phone plummet down to its bitter end

Into the bowl full of your Big Gulp you waited in line to expend.

Afternoons in the summer when your knee pits sweat

Or when an insect you “killed” suddenly resurrects

Every single email sent to you from LinkedIn

And when the person in front of you leaves their blinker blinkin’

Over ripe bananas and milk that’s gone a-chunk

Waking up in the morning with breath that tastes a-funk

Deciding what’s for dinner when there’s nothing in the fridge

Or when the person parked next to you could have moved over just a smidge.

Paper cuts, splinters, and the itch you can’t reach

Having every orifice of your body full of sand from the beach

Empty toilet paper rolls and empty boxes in the pantry

Watching the door shut behind you after you forgot your house key.

Forgetting to set an alarm and getting to work late

Only to find half your hair curled upwards and half of it pointed straight

When the headphones of your iPod go all a-twist

Or your car begins screeching like it needs an exorcist

The moments after winter turns into spring

When your allergies awaken and your snot makes tissues sing

Email after email claiming to get you rich quick

And email after email claiming to give you a big…..

Putting sunscreen on every inch except one

Or the 405 backing up on Saturday just for fun

Stepping on gum or getting gum in your hair

Blowing a bubble too big that catches your faces in a sticky snare

Finding a puddle with your fresh pair of socks

And every single E-trade commercial where infants can talk

There’s also the abundance of forks when you need spoons

Or the terrifying sound of popping balloons

We all have the things that leave us a-muck

They’re the things we just hate; they’re the things that just suck



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