Ergo, the Ogre

It’s time for the 43rd weekly Terrible Poetry Contest over at Chelsea Ann Owens’ Blog.

Writing cliché, mis-metered verse can be tricky; only those stuck in bad, beginner habits can truly pull it off. For a bit of guidance, read my basic outline. Ready? Excellent. Let’s begin.

Here are the specifics for this week:

1. The Topic is free-versing about secondhand sales. Ever been to a yard sale? Garage sale? Flea market? Write about it; flow about it.
2. Looking for a certain Length? Let’s go with fewer than 150 words. Final offer.
3. Rhyming is not allowed. This is free verse poetry, people. Curb your instincts.
4. Above all, make it terrible. e.e. cummings must feel such a shock from your literary efforts that he vows to capitalize his name just to make you stop.
5. Let’s keep the rating PG or cleaner. What sort of flea market are you going to, anyway?

O, Saturday Tag Sale:

my Nirvana, my Shangri-la.

The anticipation makes me euphoric:

all that junk to riffle through,

not to mention smelly, worn clothing!

My God, it makes me hot.

So, so hot; ain’t nothin’ hotter

than when the sun beats down

on my bald spot

mercilessly, and then

the salty sweat gets in

my eyes, runs down

my neck and back

and finally trickles,

(oh so delicately!)

into my shorts.

The sensation makes me want to squeal.

But I don’t.