She Sells Sea Shells (The Shell Seller)
I haven't updated in a while. I'm sorry. Here's something I wrote last summer and revised slightly before internet publication. We all know that writing is never done. It's only due. Well, the due date has come and gone for this one. Rocket.
She sells sea shells, but the market's bad,
so now she rents race cars down by the shore.
Business is listless, but the hours are rad;
the salary is barely enough to get by.
But those sea shells, now, she no longer needs;
she shipped them all back to the shell factories.
This poem has no moral and it doesn't speak about the human condition. It has nothing to do with me or anyone I know. It's nonsense of the highest order and I hereby disown it from my vast body of poetry. Anyone who identifies with the speaker in this poem is a frustrated academic and should be shot.
She sells sea shells, but the market's bad,
so now she rents race cars down by the shore.
Business is listless, but the hours are rad;
the salary is barely enough to get by.
But those sea shells, now, she no longer needs;
she shipped them all back to the shell factories.
This poem has no moral and it doesn't speak about the human condition. It has nothing to do with me or anyone I know. It's nonsense of the highest order and I hereby disown it from my vast body of poetry. Anyone who identifies with the speaker in this poem is a frustrated academic and should be shot.
posted by Poetry Revolutionist at 10:16 PM
2 Comments:
I think you have an interesting perspective on how our childhood idols no longer represent what they used to, even those present in simple child rhymes. I blame capitalism and the Republican party. And Fruity Pebbles. Somehow Fruity Pebbles seem to be playing a key yet currently hidden role.
I'm too tired to be clever. That made me giggle.
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