Home » Poems » Matthew Harris » Godot Paid Me a Visit

Godot Paid Me a Visit

While constipation kept me in arrears,
asper daily writing,
     thus ordinarily straight forward
     practiced process culling material,

     (a daily endeavor generally mastered
     by your truly), this moment bares
with more difficulty, thus derriere's
functionality created backlog

     (of personal business),
     hence presenting literary chops,
     a real bummer today,
disgruntlement with Fanny Pack,

     (which gripe flares
cheeks) pitted me considerably
     behind schedule, so...here's
the scoop (hoop fully solid explanation

     for my absence) amidst
     virtual chattering class
     otherwise known as Face booking,
     Instagramming, and Whatsapp

     pin with ma Jeers
zee Boyz'n the hood,
     ah...also dem "Back Street Boys"
     oh mother f***er...,

     I just learned day got eliminated
     and blocked, (cuz o' their wiped out,
     wasted, sunken,
     flushed, dumpy untidily

     bowled over appearances),
     Sergeant Scott Coreless forced their
     evacuation citing Lumineers
     as more ass toot,

hence the emcee then welcomed,
     opening dreck "Johnny On The Spot,"
     and the "The Proctologists,"
     who performed before nares

     Naked Lady sighted spectators, with
     lovers spooning within cheeky pairs
     otherwise, essentially a pooped out crowd
     sitting on their haunches,

while myself perched
     some distance away
     with my comfortably numb tuckus
     atop the porcelain Goddess

     a awaiting emetic to expel
for iCloud to finish updating
before continuing with sign out...
     from this Macbook Pro,

     which aye sheepishly pro state
as the long winded soup peer
re: or (flatulence riddled) explanation.

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