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Poetic Diarrhea
R. Meuser
Before this Poetry Thing
early this morning
my mind pooped out four poems
without any warning.
First, came one
and then came two.
I had to write so fast
my fingers turned blue.
The writing was good
but not real great.
I thought I could stop it
with a spoon of Kaopecktate.
I figured I was cured
what more could there be?
Then came an inspiration
suddenly, the count was three.
I was exhausted
my arm was sore.
Plop! out came another
the total was four.
The dilemma I was in
was plain to see.
The Kaopecktate did not work
I considered taking Imodium AD.
My body started shaking
my brow became wet.
Oh no, could there be
another poem yet?
My eyes grew blurry
my hand became numb.
Suddenly I felt
another thought come.
Then I realized
the numbers didn't jive
I had added one more
and made the count five.
I thought I was going crazy
or at least on the border.
But all poets know
this is a natural disorder.
Now you know the story
of my poetic crappin.
But I fear it is not over
because poems just happen.
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