Friday, May 29, 2015

Sarah Page- Three Poems

Team Bonding

We run the streets,
Feet hitting the pavement,

House after house,
Brick after brick,
Our giggles chop through the air,
Our differences lost on the road,

Lit by buzzing street lamps and stars,
Socks pulled up to our knees,
Black streaks under our eyes,
What we wear is our armor,

Kitchen utensils are our weapons of choice,
Forks snap in the freshly cut grass,
Like a knife gliding through thick yellow butter,
In the heat of the moment we never notice,

The red and blue lights in the back of our minds,
It’s a simple prank,
Thought up by clever kids wanting revenge,
The pounding in our hearts fade,

The next day when we wake up sore,
Heavy eyes and a cloud of vanilla fills the room,
We eat the sticky crunch of french toast,
And plan next year’s attack.

An Ode to Eli’s Hair

His hair flows like a pegacorn flies through the air,
Shininess created by three full jars of hair gel,
He spends four hours creating a perfectly shaped crown,
The gentle plastic of his hair gives me peace.

No hair dye can compare
Eli’s hair creates a hope for the future,
A future where everyone has good looking hair
A future where Eli rules the world.

Eli is the only one who knows how to style hair,
He is the guy who knows his gels from his sprays,
Eli can make any hair look like his beautiful locks
Just by looking at it and snapping his magic fingers.

To be as loved as Eli,
And to have so many girls chasing after me 
I would love to have hair such as perfect as him,
Because his hair is the most beautiful piece of art ever to exist.

Prince Eric and His Princess

He was named after a prince,
Who fell in love with a mermaid,
Eric hasn’t quite found his princess,
Mostly because he looks for her on land.

Eric searches the halls for a woman,
With his charcoal hair and flawless bone structure,
And his bushy eyebrows keep his secrets,
Forever he is looking for a siren, who sings his song,

Eric would fall upon this woman in his fridge,
He has found his true love in the cold darkness of his own home
This woman is covered in a thick batter,
And dipped gently into hot oil,

Eric’s true love was put to sleep,
And she covers his fingers in delicious thick grease,
Eric wouldn’t be the same without his love,
Because he would be hungry for someone else,

Eric’s true love has been sitting in my fridge,
Waiting for him to come and sweep her off her feet,
But he cannot have her sweet tender meat,
Because his true love is my old fried chicken,
And she has gone bad.

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