Man, I have too much stuff. But I may need this single scrap of gift wrap.
Oh, if I threw it out, I’d be sure to regret it. I might give someone a
Very small gift sometime soon. You know, like a contact lens case or any
Infinite number of crappy gifts one could potentially give someone.
Non-denominational gift wrap like this is perfect for the holiday party! So
Go ahead, carry it up three flights in that big box of sundries. Please.
Posts under ‘poeTRY’
Acrostic moving poem for TBID
Happy Poem in Your Pocket Day!
I told my co-workers about it yesterday and printed out poems for everyone.
The flowers I didn’t want
There was this really beautiful Friday. Then a beautiful Sunday. On Monday, he told me, “Not to jinx things, but you kind of rock my world.” I wryly responded, “All right. This is the part in the movie where one of us gets cancer.” (I recently watched Love Story).
Hoping for the worst
This isn’t going to become a blog entirely dedicated to the eakupbray, but I want to share a favorite poem.
Monday haiku
Under the weather
or maybe just beside it.
Not so much difference.
(Does the last line work, since no one actually says “dif-fer-ence”?)
Lightless apartment haiku
*My main studio apartment light is out again. The ceilings are higher than Amy Winehouse on her honeymoon. I looked for a lamp at Bed Bath and Beyond and I guess they were all hidden in the beyond.
Family poetry
For years, other people’s grandparents will talk about Lichtenstein’s. It is the downtown department store - the only place to buy something nice enough for a wedding or a funeral - years before the strip malls bloom with their affordable chain stores. Lichtenstein’s is classy, but insulting. It sells furs to South Texans, which is not unlike selling cut-off shorts to a mountaineering team in the Alps.
Work haiku
Head Honcho teased me today, because I kept turning the air conditioner in the office I’m using on and off. I never could get comfortable in the stuffy room.
“The Country” - Billy Collins Animated Poetry
One of the first poems ever written for me
*I found this old poem in a bedroom drawer last night, folded neatly amongst crusted over nail polish bottles and single lost earrings. A poem out of place for a person out of place. Adanna Thompson, wherever you are, I still don’t know how much I should read into that last line.
I wrote this. You didn't.