A Poem for Pooh
It’s like they were crippled sloths making their way thru the grimpen mire. Each had tried and failed miserably to manifest their destiny. Apparently, destiny was having none of it. What was manifest destiny anyway, if not the White man’s religion? How about one big justification for manhandling the natives like so many sacks of potatoes.
“Potatoes?” Ahab roared, as he stood against the waves. “Stop before that Moby Dick son-of-a-bitch makes his way back. I don’t think we can take another hit. Not from this massive White whale.”
Yes. There it is “White Privilege!” As white as pneumonia. And, in the form of whale. Would you expect less? You would if you’d been hit by a brick, that’s for sure.
By the way. Where the hell is that sloth? Making his way thru the grimpen mire, I expect.
It was then that destiny manifested itself from on high. Not low. You got that! It sprang forth like spring, springing out of winter or moving back thru time into summer, which was better than winter any day.
Oh to be at the beach on this sunny day, funny, hunny day, as if Pooh and Tiger were your bestest pals.
“Gee. Pooh bear. My life is dull and drab as shit without my make-believe friends. Which makes me pathetic, I guess.” Said Christopher Robin who was gently slipping into madness.
“No.” Pooh said. “You’re probably bipolar. Which ain’t so bad. You could be chased by demons. Would you want that? I think not. And then Pooh threw a brick, barely missing Christopher Robin’s head. “How about that. There’s something to be thankful for.” Said Pooh with a sly smile.
The End
Sir Isaac Newton
“Potatoes?” Ahab roared, as he stood against the waves. “Stop before that Moby Dick son-of-a-bitch makes his way back. I don’t think we can take another hit. Not from this massive White whale.”
Yes. There it is “White Privilege!” As white as pneumonia. And, in the form of whale. Would you expect less? You would if you’d been hit by a brick, that’s for sure.
By the way. Where the hell is that sloth? Making his way thru the grimpen mire, I expect.
It was then that destiny manifested itself from on high. Not low. You got that! It sprang forth like spring, springing out of winter or moving back thru time into summer, which was better than winter any day.
Oh to be at the beach on this sunny day, funny, hunny day, as if Pooh and Tiger were your bestest pals.
“Gee. Pooh bear. My life is dull and drab as shit without my make-believe friends. Which makes me pathetic, I guess.” Said Christopher Robin who was gently slipping into madness.
“No.” Pooh said. “You’re probably bipolar. Which ain’t so bad. You could be chased by demons. Would you want that? I think not. And then Pooh threw a brick, barely missing Christopher Robin’s head. “How about that. There’s something to be thankful for.” Said Pooh with a sly smile.
The End
Sir Isaac Newton