« A Little Positive Press | Main | This is what I look like when I'm working »

October 19, 2007

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.


TrackBack URL for this entry:

Listed below are links to weblogs that reference A Poem about Rain:


Feed You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.


Yes, froggies can smell farts


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.


Great poem.
And I think tomdog is just a little bit in love with you. Too.


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.



oooh,now Renee. You aren't dissing the Gaff,are ya? Don't make me choose betwixt them,dammit!


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.


i laughed so hard at this my boss yelled at me.


The comments to this entry are closed.