What Do You Get ...

... if you cross bad poetry with bad poetry? More bad poetry of course. (A good place to find some really really bad poetry is here. Find the real thing here and here.)

So, in time for the World Cup, here is a hybrid, gestalt entity - a duck-rabbit - of two other silly poems I once wrote:

watching football

is better than reading a novel
if it’s a novel
that’s self published on the internet

is better than sex
if it’s sex
that you’d later regret

is better than a movie
if it’s a movie
with Kevin Costner in it

better than going cold turkey
from your rhyming dictionary
or calling your mother
to tell her
you hate the rehab she paid for

(too many hippies, you explain, lamely)

but you sooth her and promise
you will never rhyme “roses”
with “cirrhosis”
ever again