Big Dog, Little Dog
There was a gentle, big dog
Who parked her teeny car
And a chubby, smaller poodle
Ventured out to bark:
"Who do you think--you can't be here
And take this very space.
It's for service vehicles
And I have your Drivers License Plate.
"I have all your information
Turn you into the Parking Dawg Phase."
She squacked and squirmed effortlessly
Without any thoughtful grace.
The big dog rolled over her eyes
And peeped, "I'll be on my way."
But the pooch rattled on, behind her BMW
And relished her controlling place.
The big dog had no Superior Ego
For chest-beating like an alpha-ape
For she knew in the back of her mind
That way back in the day....
"The Big Dog and the Little Dog
Is the Physics Law of the Land
But-in this vast Invisible Barbwire
Holds me to refrain, withstand
"To strip every single muscle,
Crush every bone out of the pooch
So I'll back my car, with no remark--
For there are consequences, social-immune.
"So I'll pulverize you to homo-soup
Through the Visions of my Almighty Mind
And take out your pooh-pooh resentment
On this venting, whimsical rhyme."
For small dogs live in pedistoled illusion
In a world of order, discriminating size
Small dogs may have their great-big barks
But Big dogs shall always have their bite.
This poem was written this morning based on a really "stupid" event. Some fat old bitter secretary woman with her BMW behind her comes up to me just this morning and starts lecturing me about "how I shouldn't park here and this is not my personal parking space." She kept rattling on, and I was like, "Okay, I'm leaving. Okay, I'm leaving. Okay, I'm leaving." One thing I fudge by in life is parking spots. I am notorious for getting parking tickets because I am very much into "efficiency," so to speak. But that lady didn't have to be a "royal bxtch," pardon my cliche terminology. Which sparked me to write the poem above--basically stating that the Law of the Land is Physics and if I were not in a Massive Society of Imaginary Rules, right now I would have either shot you with a gun or just kicked you in the stomach and you would be meat for condors... or just vultures and wolves in general. So, I left, knowing in my mind she was dead meat, even though I left with dignity and she felt that she was Queen Bxtch of Obscure Parking Spot by the Psychology Building. Amen for poetry to take this anger out!
Even though I did not show up to class on Monday (by complete accident), Dr. Spacks let me join his course. I am completely honored. I think he knows he has a mature student (who has been literarily isolated for way too long!). I am to be doing a 15 minute poetry reading (the art of presentation) this Monday. I want to do it first so I can fall off a log. It will force me to get stuff done otherwise, like compile all my old poetry from "god knows way back when."