Why She Does It

The able cataloguer’ll

Produce the worst of doggerel

Because strict order suits her taste,

The free or random seeming waste

To such refined and organized

Beliefs. Add that it’s hypnotized

Her not into the orthodox

Approach to meter; no, what shocks

Us is that rather than to hone

The wealth of poems to a bone-

Sharp, artful edge, she deigns to vent

Her verse as tidy excrement.

Thing that Does Things

There is a wonderful machine that’s spiffy, neat, and super-keen

Because its functions are so grand and great, but on the other hand,

It’s hard to fix when it’s abuzz, malfunctioning, or conked, because

It is so arcane, intricate and complicated, that we get

Bamboozled trying to describe what’s wrong, and end in diatribe,

For truthfully, we’ve not a clue just what this fine machine can do,

Or what its actual functions are, for it’s so complex and bizarre

That we, in our benighted state, prefer to simply think it great

And know that if we could have guessed

          what it is, we’d sure be impressed.