There but for the Grace of God

There once was a teacher of rot

Who said things that he later forgot.

He read his quoted word

In a paper absurd

and remarked “I like this one a lot!”

The Whole—and Nothing But

I can't quite testify in a court of law

That one year my friend lived on nothing but slaw.

I'm unable to swear on my mother's grave

That I remember every last gift that I gave.

I can't place my hand on the Good Book (or even one that's just okay)

While I tell the story of my biggest Bueller day.

I can't take an oath and tell before a judge

That I drove clear 'cross the country pursuing a grudge,

But cross my heart and hope to die,

I'm not the kind to tell a lie;

I'm a bard.

Refreshing

I suppose I must just not be civilized.

Those few moments that most people prize

Are on my list as just another chore.

I don't care to be clean; I care that my morning or

My evening has a hole in the middle, gored.

I only care that I'm bored.

Living Up To My Ideals

I should have all my grades in, but some work was late.
I should be ready to teach, but I made a mistake.
I should do this better; there's just too much at stake.
I should be grading, but I needed a break.
I should be planning, but I needed my break.
I should enjoy my alone time, but I can't stay awake.

Judgy Juries and Executioners

I'm not even in yet, but soon I'll go out
To face my firing squad, and my doubts.
Sidelong glances from snide eyes explain
Exactly what's wrong with my heart and my brain.
I guess I could change; I guess I could hide;
I guess I could freeze up until I can't think,
But I was born in a snowbank, and raised in the Arctic.
They'll never scare me inside.

The Pleasures and Perils of a Rich Inner Life

I do in fact recall when we first met.

Having nothing to do, and only others to look at,

I told myself a long and winding story about you—

Where you live now, where you came from, what you do,

The origin of every patch on your pied, misshapen hat,

and everything you carry in that bag slung on your back,

The way we met eating fast food, and how we left together,

First for something casual, and then, we thought, forever,

After you resigned yourself to a long and childfree life,

But I couldn't resign myself to the mother-in-law strife.

I thought of asking you to tell me a bit about yourself,

But I figured the story in my head was much more interesting.

That's still the one I'm going with.

The Relativitism and Subjectivity of a Rich Inner Life

Privacy is breath—essential to my life.

I thrive in solace, in that relative quiet.

I could stay in, and have, for days,

Away from the insults and the cliches

and celebrity gossip being hurled.

Plus, I do things with the repeat button

That I would never show the world.