i just came back from japanese lecture and as many of my other japanese classmates know, there is a boy in there we call donkey-sama. you may not know him intimately but i'm sure after sitting five rows in front of him or three rows behind him, you'll hear every word of his conversation with his slightly embarrassed friend. i know there's one like him in every class.
he has greasy hair,
a loud annoying deep laugh.
that's donkey-sama!
2 comments:
man, sounds like the poetry i wrote in the dungeons of the berkeley library, mesmerized by the guy sitting across from me scratching his head and watchng the dandruff snowfall cover his linear geometry textbook. that's hot.
suz, i still have that poem you speak of, both parts actually. i love it!
"snowing in the library."
sitting, writing, i watch the storm.
the white flakes fall
slowly, silently
they flutter down
speckling the green and brown
with bits of dirtiness.
with every scratch and shake
the storm grows stronger
the flakes fall faster
subsuming all that is in their path:
goodbye pencil
goodbye calculator
goodbye notebook.
please do not make the wind blow.
please do not bite the fingers of destruction.
save me from the monster storm.
and the second part...
"dirty library poem number two"
why must boys sit next to me at the library?
so many seats from which to choose
and yet, like magnets, they are attracted to the chairs to the right and left of me.
bite their nails, pick their scabs, snort their snot:
i am in a flurry of disgust.
all i want to do is read and study,
but how is that possible when every sentence is interrupted by the sound
of a watery slurp of the nose and a hacking cough?
maybe they sit next to me to bask in the radiance of my beauty and charm?
highly unlikely, but a girl can wonder.
they're probably more attracted to the adequate lighting than my bookish
beauty.
but, the unshoed, blue-socked feet, i must admit, are very captivating.
but i digress.
continue to bite your nail, boy with statistics book,
crunch them with all your might.
i will soon be leaving to find a new spot with empty seats and adequate
light.
i love you, susan.
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