The Oldest Banana

Hey! It's snack time!
My father bequeaths unto me a banana.

"Dad, what's this?"
He doesn't say anything.

"Look inward towards yourself son,"
he says with just a glare.

It had been in his briefcase
for nearly 4.5 months.

Motorcycle Dreams

If I get a motorcycle I want it all. I want the fastest, most sexy, rocking-abs-in-your-face-crotch-cannon on the market. You can't just half-dip your toe in the motorcycle swimming pool, you gotta dive!

If I get a motorcycle I want to weave in and out of traffic, I want to duck through red lights and zoom past stop signs without stopping because, let's face it, you can't just act careful on a motorcycle. That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!

If I get a motorcycle I want to be real cool. I want long hair, a cool jacket, one of those spiked helmets, and a babe on the back hanging on to all my sweet biker gear. I also want two other babes, on side cars, complimenting the babe that's directly behind me - I want a tri-wing babe army!

Wow, that sounds cool.

If I get a motorcycle I want to be the king, but if I get a motorcycle I feel like I'm going to die. Really quickly.

So that's why, If I get a motorcycle, I'm going to need at least 3 big dudes at my funeral to take a stand and say, "Ian was pretty rad." Otherwise it won't be worth it.

My Last Olives

I came home late from work,
my roommate came home early.

I was feeling lackadaisical
my roommate was looking rather surly.

I asked him what was up,
I said, "Why do you look so cross?"

He was standing by the fridge,
So I asked, "Are we out applesauce?"

He said, "Hey bro, did you eat my olives?"
"I won't be mad, just tell me the truth."

I said okay, "I ate your olives."
So he punched me...
in the throat.

Meeting Lukk

I met Lukk
two years ago
in Oslow,
at a bus stop.

He had a patched jacket,
wool pants, bad breath,
and he was eating an
English muffin.

I asked him,
just by happenstance,
if he had a quarter for a
vending machine-fruit pie.

He said he did, and
as I grabbed the change
from his pleasant hand
he said, "Praise Jah, may duh fullness
of his entirety bring yahs to Babylon,"
which I thought was a little weird
at the time.

I then proceeded to walk over to
the coffee machine, totally distracted
by this Norwegian Jamaican man's generosity,
placed a quarter in and pressed the
"dispense coffee now" button.
I did actually want a fruit-pie, not coffee,
but as luck would have it, the coffee
machine was broken anyway.
.
Unaware that the Xpresso Deluxe
had been taken out of order for spewing hot drink
into patrons' faces, and
still musing over this mans amazing mixed
ancestry, I received my scalding coffee to the face.

Lukk just turned around and said,
"Sheeet."

Old World English

I want to talk about a word
severely underused
as of late.

A word created then lost-
callously discarded to the
depths...of the 1990's.

This word is rad.
Coincidentally the word I'm
talking about also happens to be the word: rad,
but rad's pretty rad so it still works.

Let's face it,
there isn't a nugget of vocabulary
that rolls off the tongue as easily as rad.

That rug is rad,
that hat is rad,
that raggedy rickety rabbit is so very righteously rad.

That broom is rad,
that chair, so rad,
that broom on that chair?
Rad, rad, rad!

What's better then rad?
Nothing, and the only reason
I can think of for why it's fallen
out of style is that it was indeed
too rad.

Like Pogs, and Whistle Pops,
it was just too rad.

Dramatic Poem

Who doesn't love a good dramatic poem?

I'm talking about a poem that

makes you cry, a lot.

I'm talking about a poem that makes you

cry so much you just

waste away in the chair you were sitting in;

cry so much you just soil yourself

right in the chair you were sitting in;

cry so much that you 

stain your petticoat,

roll on the floor sobbing,

and then stain the petticoats of 

those that flock to your side

to comfort you.

I mean, that sounds great time to me.

Who doesn't love a good couple of verses,

or even 85 versus, all working together in

unison to make you burst into

a water-factory of woe.

A good dramatic poem

pulls you into

a depth of melancholy 

you never thought possible.

Those kinds of poems are my favorite.

I can't stand poems that aren't dramatic.

Those poems and the poets that write 

them should all explode on conveyor belts.