averageness, commonness, commonplaceness, normality

The Morning Wood

the morning wood:
   comes out in the morning
     comes out to play
       is stiff and unbending
         is here to stay

the morning wood:
         likes the great outdoors
       likes building a tent
     likes baiting and fishing
   likes cleaning the vent

the morning wood:
   hates chores and vegetables
     hates noon and lunch
       hates people and meetings
         hates juice and punch

the morning wood:
         is high and fixated
       is too jack to call
     is boss and elated
   is too tall to fall

Filed under: poem

for Polin, my dear friend

Pauline, the Anti-Jet Set
Ice cream is part of her diet
She likes it when the ice cream is wet
You can even smell aroma on her breath

Her favorite flavors are lemon and maple syrup
She won’t notice you no matter what stir-up
As long as she’s eating her ice cream
She’ll only spot you in a dream

Pauline, the Anti-Jet Set
I’m so sorry you don’t know her yet.
Pauline, the Anti-Jet Set
The day will come, when you will have met.

Filed under: friends, poem, polin

Why I Don’t Have a Child Yet

Charles Dumaraos, 2009

Why don’t I have a child yet?
I’m 25 years old
and I still don’t have those little bundles of joy
40% of my old classmates have at least one
braggig their moments, stories, and pictures
while I have none

My mother has been going crazy on me
Pressuring me to get her a grandchild
But all I can do is smile and try to ignore her
because right at this moment, i’m thinking-
this idea is wild!

Sure, babies are cute
Until you wake up 2 in the morning
and clean up their poop
Crying tirelessly like there’s no tomorrow
By the end of the night, you wish there’s
Somebody’s time you can borrow

Then on Saturday and Friday nights
You can’t go away
To party, get drunk, have fun and play
Because of your little darling who
Can’t feed itself and will probably pee itself
you need to stay
And now you wish you had a condom when you got laid

after 3 or 4 years, somehow, you get past that
by now, you’re praying this child won’t turn into a brat
because this toddler will ask for everything
from barbie dolls to spiderman action figures
all harry potter books and stephenie meyer releases
an annual party and inflated allowance daily
and everything they don’t have
that their classmates do maybe

such a pain in the rear, these children are
when you travel by commute
or even when you have a car
it’s like two pet mice
got out of their cage
and you’re trying to put em back on the leash
to shut down the chaos and rage

when they grow up tp be adolescents
full of angst and rebelious thinking
reminds you of yourself, when you were a teen
but probably a lot mellower or maybe the other way
you also won’t know what they’re up to
despite the internet superhighway
thinkin bout drugs and sex and crume and such
they might end up using a crutch

and that’s not all, it’s not all
if somehow you keep them off these bad things
you still need to worry about the direction and path they’ll take in life
what are they good at?
what could they be?
where could they enlist?
be a doctor, a teacher or a scientis?
or maybe the worst profession of all,
become a non-profiting kind of artist

and your job as a parent doesn’t really end after they graduate
or when they have a career of finiding guys, for a fee, to felate
you need to keep supporting them
and teaching them
until the day you die
cause you want to make sure on your funeral
somebody will at least cry

anyway, you probably think i’m selfish
a pessismist and my reasons are all absurd
i just don’t like the idea of bringing an infant into this world
a world of pollution, corruptness
and war and hatred
a world where crume is happening
right in our basements?
a world without cory, jacko or freshly squeezed lemonade
a world of peer pressure, hipocrisy, and electrolit powerade

so right now, i’d rather live by myself and die alone
without anybody to see whenever i go home
but at least i’m doing the world a favor
and i hope that everybody realizes and see
that i didn’t have a child because i don’t another one of me

Filed under: babies, cory aquino, michael jackson, poem