I’m lazy and cold today and don’t want to write a post, so here: read this poem I wrote for poetry class. I think I like it a lot, but I’m not sure yet.
Jeremiah Jenkin’s house was the
Ugly one on the end of the street,
All covered in vines and surrounded
By dogwoods, and a peach tree
At each corner, although they were
All wizened up and didn’t give but
Mean, stingy little fruits.
His lawn was brown and scratchy,
Like a big carpet of prickly, plastic
Grass, and it was dumb but he guarded
That lawn with his life, screaming
Curses, eyes bulging, spit flying, if ever
Some kid who didn’t know better
Cut across his yard to make it to the
Jeremiah was king of that bare plot until
The Tartar came, this mangy, ratty blue
Tick hound who sauntered across the lawn
With his thin tail held high, nose in the air,
Slapping each big paw down, his grimy ears
Flopping up and down with his saucy walk.
Jeremiah stood on the porch, watching,
Coffee mug in veiny, liver-spotted hand,
And then his eyes began to bulge, his
Nostrils to flare and his chest thudded
Up and down as pure fury threatened
To choke him, and he gasped in a breath
And screamed, “Get off my gosh darn yard!”
The Tartar glanced deliberately back
And kept on going, unconcerned, his
Tail wagging back and forth, and Jeremiah
Rained curses down on the Tartar’s head and
His mother and his progeny and so help
Him God he would choke the life out of
Him with his bare hands if he saw him again.
That wasn’t the end of the Tartar’s attitude,
Of course, and the very next day he was
Back, wagging that tail, flopping those ears,
And Jeremiah screamed and flung his coffee
Mug and cursed until his wrinkled old face
Was turning blue from lack of oxygen and
He was almost shaking and had to sit down.
The kids who got off at the bus stop up the
Road always came to watch the Tartar prance his
Arrogant little butt across the yard and the
Screaming and apoplexy from Jeremiah that
Followed, the things thrown – coffee cups and
Rib bones and balled up plastic and sometimes
Things like slippers or the pillow from his porch chair.
It was the little boy down the street who
Noticed when there were more rib bones
Than coffee cups, and sometimes the Tartar
Would pick up the thrown bones and trot off
With them, tail held high, and pretending
He didn’t notice when Jeremiah’s old lips
Would tug back in a tiny little smile.