A Poem about Rain
It's raining where I live.
Big drops of water.
Splashing on the sidewalk, on the roadway,
On the baby froggies
Too froggy to be called tadpoles,
Too babyish to be called grown-up froggies.
It's raining where I live.
The titter-tat of gunfire
Spattering on the sidewalk, on the roadway,
On the baby froggies.
It isn't real gunfire, of course.
Only the sound of rain,
Which sounds like gunfire
Produced from a semi-automatic weapon
Whose firing mechanism has been
Illegaly altered by a guy I know in Maryland.
It's raining where I live.
The air smells of grassy things. And farts.
The farts are mine. They spread across
The sidewalk, the roadway, and
On the baby froggies.
Can froggies smell farts?
It's raining where I live.
The sidewalk bleeds water. The roadway scarred.
The baby froggies want only to
Croak their peeping croaks,
And make more baby froggies,
Which I will call tadpoles.
But they are froggies.
And froggies gross me out.
So I step on them, one by one,
Until they are froggies no more.
It's raining where I live.
It's raining where I live.
Yes, froggies can smell farts
Posted by: tomdog | October 19, 2007 at 01:11 PM
Farts and violence. Nothing better on a rainy day. Don't go getting postal on us,now.
So funny and I could show this one to my son who also likes to fart.
Posted by: Camille | October 19, 2007 at 01:22 PM
Great poem.
And I think tomdog is just a little bit in love with you. Too.
Posted by: Zane | October 19, 2007 at 01:25 PM
Yeah go for it Dawg
with your funky ass blog
Dude fer real - not plastic
Your poem is PHANTASTIC!
Killin' frogs like they're eggshells
And queefing out fart smells?
Man whatever you're takin'
beats Gaffigans bacon.
Word.
Posted by: Reen | October 19, 2007 at 03:04 PM
oooh,now Renee. You aren't dissing the Gaff,are ya? Don't make me choose betwixt them,dammit!
Posted by: Camille | October 19, 2007 at 05:43 PM
I'm torn on this one.
Torn between my disgust and horror at the senseless amphibian carnage, which, as a dyed-in-the-wool vegetarian, offends my animal loving principles; and my innate puerile sensibility that compels me to laugh at fart references.
What can I say? The farts won me over. Fuck the froggies, my grandma had a phobia about the little bastards anyway.
Posted by: Therese | October 20, 2007 at 03:51 AM
i laughed so hard at this my boss yelled at me.
thanks.
Posted by: Jenny | July 17, 2008 at 03:43 PM