I have to disclose
That my first attempt at a poem
To satisfy this day of writing
Went to the bin
With all the violence
Of Clyde Drexler throwing one down
In a lane full of giants.
I tried to squeeze ideas
From the great well of the news
Where the best fiction really happens,
But today the ideas refused
To flow from my pen
All I had was Hoffa, who could not be found
And the Polk County Pot pilot
Who got away
Despite the loss of his plane
And the bales of weed
He landed up on Treat Mountain.
I must share
That I sought irony
In a congressman proposing
A national day of humiliation
When on this day
Presidential candidates sound like kids
Walking around an elementary school playground
Slinging the insults without a care
For their image.
I wish one would make fun of another’s mother.
Then I would have something to write about.