Monday, April 12, 2010

PAD Challenge - Days 10, 11, 12

Day 10 - Write a horror poem or a poem somehow linked to scarriness.

Winter and Peanut Butter

Peanut butter crusted hands
Try to run through my hair.
I wince, squinting, trapping the hair
that's static-plastered to my eyes
inside my eye-lids.

My hair clings to the side of my face
And across my dry-cracking lips.
My lips sting as I try to lick them,
But the hair gets caught on my tongue
And drawn back in with it.

A few more tummy-curdling lurches
and it's worked its way down my throat.
My throat which itches and tickles
To cough, but to cough I suck in,
Drawing the hair longer into me.

Long, thin and dry tentacles
Scratch at me inside and I can't get them out.
Sticky hands grab the violating stalk
And pull it out, making my throat
Feel like a scab picked off.

My eyes water as I brush the hair
From my face with my parched hands.
It renews its attack and clings even more
Until I've finally had enough.

Tomorrow, the peanut butter's being thrown out.
Tomorrow, I'm getting a hair cut.
Tomorrow, I'm using conditioner.
Tomorrow, I'm wearing sunglasses because

when the sticky hands pulled the hair
out of my mouth and face,
the strands trapped under my eyelid
whipped across my cornea and gave me
a paper cut on the eyeball.

Day 11 - Make the title of the poem "The Last _____"

The Last Printing

No more wasting trees or recycling reams.
We all have electronics now.
I'm in charge of printing the last piece
of paper that will ever be printed on.

The paper will say something official about the event.
Paper is now outlawed unless you have a permit
for things like Origami and Scherenschnitte.

Cameras and Reporters are circled around
and Earth activists are cheering across the country.
Someone has started a printer-bonfire.

In the years to come, there will be gifts,
expensive gifts of paper acquired from
businesses with permits specifically designed
to produce economy-friendly mementos of the past.

The Last Printing is framed and has an image
of the American Flag. It sits in a glass cage
in between a cuneiform tablet and one of those
pesky little cell phones we used to carry.

Day 12 - Pick a city and make that the title of your poem.


Skeptical about having to spend gas to drive
all the way to Winona for a job interview.
A job that might not work out and we might not
be happy with, my fiance and I started off with headaches.

As soon as we hit the town, we knew
we wanted to live there, would take any job,
would move in an instant.

It was in a valley, with quaintness
wrapped all the way around a lake,
and a train that ran alongside us
as if we were part of someone's model train show.

So far away from everyone and everything
we had generally known. But the job
plus the beauty could make everything turn out.
But in the end we only had half of that equation.

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