Two Nonsense Poems

The Penguin That Never Was

The stillborn penguin
has three hairs on his chin.
One red, one black, and one blonde.
He says, quite grave,
"I never will shave,
until the entire rainforest is gone."

The stillborn penguin
loves Joseph Stalin.
They surfed together in Guam.
Friends for many years,
through laughter and tears.
They did two tours in 'Nam.

It's amazing to see
what can be achieved
by a dead baby bird in a jar.
The president wrote
him a lengthy love note
and married him in a gay bar.

When it's late at night
and the wind is just right
you can hear the penguin's bark.
It's short and it's shrill
and it gives me a thrill
like stabbing myself in the dark.

* * *

Love Poem for Lonely Lepers

Love, she said, is a pleasant thing
like kicking a dog in the ass.
Like stabbing a rabbit in both eyes
or destroying a loony's day pass.

Love, he said, is a wonderful joy,
like murdering a kitten with sticks.
Like voiding your bowels on the blind
or stealing a junkie's last fix.

They met in a bar,
and their love went far --
as far as a rock can be thrown.
And when it was done
there was no more fun
but at least they were both alone.

Love, they said, is a great chore
like shovelling dirt from a ditch.
Like cremating a box of hand grenades
or watching a dying dog's twitch.

If there was no love,
and no heaven above,
and no hell full of very sad moans,
I would be more happy,
a lot less sappy,
and I'd stop writing stupid poems.