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Meter Poem (Not!)
The things I don’t understand, don’t rightly know
why they are always objects of confusion.
That mixed up brain of mine will not let them work.
It cannot, will not.
Meter, like this poem is supposed to be.
I can’t hear the highs and the lows of a line.
Quatrains, trochees, and dactyls- all sound the same.
Except, they are not.
Take math. It’s all a string of numbers to me.
They’re just fractions and equations and no sense.
I guess I’ll never have a lucky number.
(Never were of use)
Or art, I refuse to be neat in my dreams.
Coloring in the lines? Not interested.
It is my own creation, not yours (or yours!)
I defy the rules!
It’s twenty thousand steps to technology,
And I have yet to understand that either.
Video games and cellular phones make no change-
if they seem like French!
If I were to rule the world, I would phase out
meter and math, “neat art” and technology.
Things I don’t understand will be put away.
And we’d be alright.