Humor

The Shit You’ll See in Paris | Poems that Suck

I was walking along a narrow,

Parisian street; very posh,

the kind with neat hedgerows

that camouflage the iron gate

intended to keep

the riff raff

out.

I was having a pleasant

morning stroll, but

then a giant pile

of dog shit

came across

my

path.

I paused for a moment,

nibbling on my

chocolate croissant,

mulling over

the turd in

my way

before

continuing

on.

Not five steps away,

I beheld what was

very clearly a

skid mark

that repeated

every three

paces

or

so.

I quickly put the

pieces together,

some unfortunate

fellow had stepped

in that

shit

not

far

back

And had spent

half a mile

trying to

scuff it off

the bottom

of

his

shoe.

I gazed at the

last, short

skid shaking

my head.

Surely, this

was a

commentary

on

life.

Humor · Sex

Paris | Poems that Suck

I was in Paris, once,

just a few days.

I didn’t do all the

touristy shit;

the Arc du Triomph,

the Eiffel Tower,

the Louvre.

Instead, I went down

to Pigalle, where the

streets are a litany

of porno shops.

I bought myself

a vibrator

and

some lube.

Then went back to

my closet of

an apartment

and had a

good fuck

on the

lice

ridden

bed.

Free Verse · Humor

You Need Humor to Make it Out Alive | Poems that Suck

 I shit my pants once -
 now, hear me out: 
 

 I was eating Chinese,
 a greasy eggroll, 
 so greasy I made
 a comment 
 out loud
 about it. 


 Against my better judgement
 I ate the thing 
 anyway. Hours
 later, I left work
 not thinking
 about that
 fucking
 eggroll.


 I gambled and lost, 
 as they say, and
 I began laughing
 hysterically
 because what
 else can 
 you do
 with your
 pants full of shit
 and a 15 minute 
 ride home? 
Free Verse · Humor

Sweaty Dreams | Poems that Suck

 Never read 
              Bukowski
                     before bed.
                       You'll dream of 
                           shitty apartments, 
                               empty, rattling 
                                        wine bottles, 
                                            and  scabby hookers. 
 
                Then, mid dream, 
                    you'll realize
                        you're sweating
                              buckets 
                                   between your ass cheeks.    
 
Humor

A Confessional. | Poems that Suck

 Remember that time,
 about 15 years ago,
 when we were driving 
 down some Texan 
 backroad?


 It started with you
 wriggling against the seat
 but soon turned into 
 a desperate scratching.


 "What the hell is wrong with you?"
 I shouted,
 "Fucking itching won't go away!"
 It took some moments, 
 but then I remembered.
 

 Two days before,
 when we were in the shower,
 I shaved your ass-cheeks
 while you washed your face.


 15 years later,
 and I'm still laughing.