Where… may ye be?
With your brownish green and/or blue eyes
Your poise was appropriate for your height
And oh, your knees – both of them – below your thighs
Let us continue our conversation one day
That one about how I ordered a parrot (fish) and then you wrote it down
And forced some guy to make it for me, bake it for me
I didn’t want dessert, and you, obviously hurt, brought me the bill
I got up in your grill, and still, you (previously) fed me my fill
That’s totally ill
[The poet puts the paper down. Throws up in the front row. 99.9% of the audience applaud. 0.02 of a person gets up to leave. Out I breathe, put on my hat, and leave.]
– Scott Sandwich
PS: In haiku form:
I just flopped it out,
And then you, a clue, without,
Walked away from me.