An untitled poem
Back in the early aughts I stumbled across a poetry competition at poetry.com, wrote a poem, submitted it and had it selected for publishing. I decided not to send in the necessary confirmation of my right to the poem, and I certainly didn’t send the biographical information they could publish alongside the poem for a nominal fee, and I didn’t order the collection Eternal Portraits that was poetry.com’s edition that month.
You see that old poetry.com (it’s been bought up and changed) was basically vanity publishing in disguise. How I know this? Well you can look it up on Wikipedia these days, but I knew it because they accepted this lovely poem I submitted under the pen-name Freemont Rushmore: (The <>’s in the title broke their website by the way, amused me to no end.)
© Freemont Rushmore
science so miraculous we thought would save the day,
and we’d be laughing ’bout this stuff, at latest come next may.
sewing on lost digits, yes, they do it all the time,
so accident prone youngsters won’t be cut down in their prime.
but alas ’twas not to be, ma ma’s backyard bad luck
of pruning off her piggies when at weeds with force she struck
will not by med’cin’ be undone, our search was much too slow
for ice and bag to keep preserved those cut with one hoes blow.
some else got to them first, and mangled them most rude.
I found them not a pretty sight, although I’m not a prude,
but I cannot, without sad tears, again look at those hoes,
since that fatefull instance when the dog ate mother’s toes.