The POTW: Verse Til It Hurts
I got a new alarm clock yesterday, to replace the one I'd been using since sometime in the 1980s. There are many nice features - it has great big numbers so I can (sort of) read it with my glasses off, it sets the time on its own by some mysterious voodoo, it has battery backup memory, and so on. Quite thrilling, as alarm clocks go. But there's one thing that bugs me, which is that every once in a while it changes the display to temporarily show the radio station the alarm is tuned to, instead of the time of day, thus confusing my gullible self into thinking it's seven forty when it really isn't. I cannot imagine any good reason it would be designed for this sort of behavior, nor is there any mention of it in the instructions, or any apparent way to defeat it. I got to thinking how it only takes one tiny flaw to overshadow all of the impressive features of an alarm clock, or a microwave, or a person. And it occurred to me that sometimes the converse is also true, at which point I decided to write the following poem:
His breath is a sewage treatment plant
Copyright © 2009 by Dave Grossman
Permanent link to this entry: http://www.phrenopolis.com/poem/index.php?p=705
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Interested in more? Check out "Ode to the Stuff in the Sink," Dave's illustrated book of "guy" verse (concerning the deeper philosophies of things like not doing the laundry, putting your feet on the furniture, and of course beer) at the Maximegalomporium (our store). And did I mention it was illustrated? Pictures!
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