For my final assignment in creative writing (English 218) I decided to write some more poetry, this time trying more rhyme. Here's one, which I think I alluded to before. The opening line is my favorite.
“Eat my shorts,” I told him, with a swift kick to the shin.
I sniffled at the thought of what might’ve, could’ve been.
He seemed like such a nice boy when I met him last September.
His coat was brown — Red. Black? Well now I can’t remember.
He took me on a first date. We ate chicken on the dock.
We went down to the shore and walked and walked and walked.
I did not enjoy the sand that stuck in between my toes.
“Of shoes, of ships, of sealing wax.” I think that’s how it goes.
The second date was better; I talked of politics and food.
But I could hardly stomach his rendition of ‘Hey Jude.’
The third time we went out, I was late and he was ugly.
“Were you with your other boyfriend?” I answered him quite smugly:
“If I had been, would I be here now?” He stared at me and drooled.
His puppy eyes almost had me, but I surely had him fooled.
The fourth date was iffy; the Frisbee hit him in the face.
He howled in pain and whimpered, blood was not his favorite taste.
I wiped his wound as he tried to lick it with his tongue.
He tackled me and I screamed out, “OK mister, I am done!”
I stormed off the muddy field, pulling grass from who-knows-where.
I didn’t look to see if he followed — I really didn’t care.
I’d had enough of grass and Frisbees, I was done with that mangy mutt.
If my heart was open at the start, it now was tightly shut.
Six months it took to rid myself of that dirty, whiney kid.
“Eat my shorts,” I frankly told him, and I think he really did.