Chicano Poet

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Sherman Grows Up

I’m teaching creative writing
at Whattsamatta U.,
I’m a grown up Sherman

and this ain’t no
Waybac machine trick,
search me, go ahead.

I gradgheeated waggna hound lab
from Harvard Home-Schooling,
never had a girlfriend

until the cicada girl
came into my ineffectual life.
All the teenage masturbation came in handy,

oops, did I say that out loud,
wipe that off the blackboard!
Boris burst in, “Aw, shut up your mouth!”

Natasha looked down at my crotch,
smiled (as hard as that is to imagine)
and said, “Hello dollink.”

As I was saying, class, CLASS!
These avantaged garded students
are a hazy Brady Bunch,

all they wanna do
is string a bunch of strings together,
when it comes to humility, they’re the greatest.

So I teach them stuff
but don’t warn them about Frostbite Falls,
that’s them in the cold adjectives down there.

I meet the cicada girl for lunch
in the Home-Schooling cafeteria.
Her brights are on,

she can see right through me.
Ah, Miss Know-It-All.
Will I be able to extricate myself?

Stay tuned to the next cartoon
when my short pants fall in love.
At another table, Bullwinkle’s antlers twinkle.


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