Depressing Little Ditties

Samantha Long

 

Recently all I dream of
Are short pseudo-poems
Depressing little ditties.

 

I want to tell you of my
Penguin slide down a
Hill in Madison, please, my
Kingdom for a cab.

 

You should know of my “Whoo!” girl
Status, yes, that’s me
Behind you, watching the band,
Screaming in your ear.

 

I’m the one washing dishes
To dubstep, f-f-f-feel that bass as you near, near
And I dance like a drunken
Mother (something about that image seems clear).

 

Look, I can even lose
That 7-5-7 syllable thing
That’s been structuring my meaning
‘Cause lately I’ve lost faith in words alone.

 

You should know I lean in,
And I like it loud,
And I will make “l” live just
A little larger, letting you linger over
How life to me is not just
Lying in longing little ditties.

 

I’m telling you, not showing that’s
How I know you ask
My pardon, “Methinks that the
Lady’s really gonna cliché this much?”

 

Here’s a sentence. And another. And to in six and another. Easy, Stein, easy.

 

Just as I told that bouncer
At Chippendale’s, smile,
It suits ya, I’ll tell my work
The same, even if it’s
Got bad teeth, and shows too much gum.
Why should I have all the fun?

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