Neil McKay's Shared Poems

I did not make a lunch today,
At noon I shall step outside and swallow up the clouds,
Wash them down with raindrops
Until sky is all that is left.
I'll wrap myself in that blue blanket
And wear the sun as a hat,
Tipped low over my eyes,
Lean up against a tree
And take a siesta.

My cupboard and pantry doors stay open and it drives her crazy.
My books lie open on couch arms,
Bending their spines in unnatural positions.
Bedroom door is, you guessed it, open all night,
So the cat can wander in when he is ready to settle down

How do I explain this need?
When the doors are shut, where does the food go?
Where are the bowls? The spoons and forks?
When the book is closed, who is reading it?
If the bedroom is not inviting, who will come in?

If I had to keep my first drafts I would be
more like Rod McKuen than Theodore Roethke.
If I could not afford to take a chance on fumbling a line
my poetry would more resemble Mother Goose than Gertrude Stein.

If I was not allowed the luxury of using cheap tricks and fun
I would never be able to approach the beauty of Emily Dicksinson.
My dead mentors are Don Marquis and Ogden Nash
And I wear my subtle humor like a handlebar mustache.

I once won a woman's heart by composing a half dozen limericks
Which, while not overtly dirty, will still embarrass me in front of both dudes and chicks.
I guess it's good that I still have a moral compass
And I engage in ludicrous rhymes to keep from becoming pompass.

The difference between poetry and comedy
Is the difference between French songs and German;
Buddhist prayers and Catholic;
A dagger and a butcher knife;
A whisper and a butcher knife;
A Buddhist and a butcher knife.