a poem for now

What We Might Be, What We Are
by X. J. Kennedy

If you were a scoop of vanilla
And I were the cone where you sat,
If you were a slowly pitched baseball
And I were the swing of a bat,

If you were a shiny new fishhook
And I were a bucket of worms,
If we were a pin and a pincushion,
We might be on intimate terms.

If you were a plate of spaghetti
And I were your piping-hot sauce,
We'd not even need to write letters
To put our affection across,

But you're just a piece of red ribbon
In the beard of a Balinese goat
And I'm a New Jersey mosquito.
I guess we'll stay slightly remote.

Friday night: Crank what?

This is how I used to roll.


Although even the Urban Dictionary gives crank dat horrible reviews, I link it in honor of my desire to learn to hip-hop dance. Yet, I'm considering going back to my southside Bingo gang instead. I think this song may be a better representation of the combination of culture I am going for.