SLYME by Michelle B. Assor
No time to dawdle or rhyme.
No time to swish this ghastly mite.
No time to flowingly write.
Camera lenses ogle
through the dark eyes of the iPad.
Beware roaming pens…..
You will be chomped and your ink run dry
Bet you didn’t know devices bite like mites.
Pens prepare for your finale.
No more writing rights!
No time to listen to melodic chimes.
Free time demands a puny dime.
Flat faced phones are advanced.
C’mon they are not that smart,
but they sure know how to keep
blushing face to face conversations
woolly worlds apart.
Where am I? Mars or the Moon?
Earth is too flat. I’d rather be as high as a kite
Yet I’ve forgotten how to climb a tree to take flight
If time permits I’ll slink the clock,
forego my stinky socks
and try to hurdle that trunk.
I’m salivating for that slimy lime
dangling high from a branch
on some wayward, distant ranch.
It’s begging me,
Be mine, be mine,
No time to reinvent the mime,
No time to whisper in your ear
“Be my Valentine”
It’s all the same suppressing chime
There is no half time, part time,
Only foolish fulltime
The cat is no longer in his hat
He doesn’t purr
And he’s losing his fur
Who, Who, WHO is Horton?
Looks like his trunk
is severely shortened.
Oh, but I do have one special wish
Yuck, no it’s not a slimy fish
I want that grimy, green grinch
The one who stole Christmas.
He ought to mind his own business.
The grimy, green grinch
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