Author: Aidan Badinger

Wharved.com I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children.

NaPoWriMo I

I’m never late for a very important date,
except tonight. This is the one exception.
I usually gallop in at a quarter to the hour,
I swear to the head of Zeus. Zeus, I say.

You want to know what caused it?
Being late, that is.

Are you sure you can handle it?
It’s a fairly obstreperous tale.

I sneezed at the waterfront.
No big deal, right?
The python junkies from Cupertino
hit up that spot every Tuesday.

They communicate with fake sneezes.
The more realistic they sound,
the bigger the turf war gets.

Well I had a juicy one.
They must have thought there was a fire.

Yep

Q: What is it you want to tell me?

A: I can’t tell you that.

Q: Why not? You just said you want to.

A: Figure of speech.

Q: Why even flap your gums at all?

A: Free country.

Q: You always give up.

A: At least I ain’t no got damn democrat.

Unfinished Space, Face It

It’s time to get it out again, that April Fool’s brigade of gawping little spectacles and pincushions. Plunked down to the dirt, straight down to where the sun don’t hurt, and it fades. In the moldy old crawlspace that smells like it always has; it’s damp and fecund enough to become its own ecosystem.

You breathe deeply and salute the millipedes (but run and hide from the centipedes). Your blood runs twice as fast, but it’s not from that overcheesed burger down the street. Then you wonder how long you can stay in this unfinished trap.

I’d say you can escape to that place forever, but you’d have to subsist on bugs. The water quality just isn’t the same as from the tap, and you never have dry feet. But at least you have yourself, and that’s what really matters anyway. Take away the frills and shouldn’t we all be so lucky as to call ourselves at home in a safe, secluded place that only your thoughts can occupy. Not the mailman, not the chef, not the computer repair person.

But then shouldn’t you let other people know about this spot? It’s near and dear to your heart, and you have so many things to show them. But you have this imp tugging at your shirt tails and poking your gut, threatening to do that for all eternity if you give away the secret.

Wisecracking Gloves

Whose business was it to match wit with brawn at the beginning of time? Who invented that continuum, and why do we stick to it so religiously?

Sure, it’s a spectrum that we all jump around and attempt to mold to our own desires, but there’s that balance eluding us. We stand on one foot in meditation, scrounging around in our minds to find the best descriptors for our situations. It’s possible to find it, but is it favorable? When, after the day, you’ve spent more time musing than doing, it’s difficult to feel fulfilled.

That’s why NuReady is announcing our new line of Wisecracking Gloves; for the comedian in all of us! Slip on a pair of these puppies and you’ll be the suave life of the party. Made of genuine leather, you’ll throw down the gauntlet in any social situation. Simply smash a wall or any other solid surface, and your gloves will be your comic relief.

Goon: “God, I’m so PISSED. This table will catch the brunt of my wrath!”

*POW*

Gloves: “How often do you feel fulfilled from pounding that wood?”

Goon: “All day every day. Hey ladies, I see you noticed my gloves.”

Ladies: “Yeah, they’re so manly.”

All across the nation, Wisecracking Gloves are rapidly becoming a staple at all kinds of gatherings: Bar Mitzvahs, Taffy Pulls, Ribbon Cutting Ceremonies, Little League Baseball Games, Chess Tournaments, Orgies, Parent Teacher Conferences, you name it!

Call now to order your very own pair before supplies run out!

That number is 1 (626) FUNNY GLOVE.

Again, 1 (626) FUNNY GLOVE!

Don’t delay, get your pair today!

Kerfuffle

Edna: Blunder into this, you old coot.

Phil: Who, me? It wasn’t me who smashed up the Buick last week.

Edna: You’re a coward to bring that up, Phil.

Phil: A coward? have you called me that yet today?

Edna: Probably once or twice.

Phil: Edna, I want a divorce.

Edna: I know, that’s part of your charm.

Budget Cuts

Alfred: How are we supposed to announce the time of our deaths while we’re still alive?
Isn’t that the doctor’s job?

E. Newman: Budget cuts.

Girder

Monk: Are we building something?
I swear the girders weren’t here yesterday.

Thistle: Hm, don’t think so.
You don’t have any paint.

Monk: What’s paint got to do with it?

Thistle: Good question. Let me ask my thesaurus.
Says here a girder is like a beam.

Monk: Oh, well that changes everything.