Sarah D. Silvey

Last night I was consumed with worry for my fellow human beings. There is only one form which can carry this sentiment, but I fear I lack the talent to really do it justice.

 

I’m concerned about people who go

Through their lives doing just as they’re told.

They insist they’re too pure

To get down on the floor

And take a look at their own asshole.

 

Inadequate. I tried again:

 

Some people can live their whole lives 

And apparently think that it’s fine 

That they never bent over

And angled a mirror

To see where the sun doesn’t shine

 

Maybe I shouldn’t have bucked tradition. Maybe a limerick is no good unless it starts with Nantucket.