BP: Playground

I’m cleaning my room (because I have to move out soon…which is sad) and I came across this poem at the bottom of a drawer. It’s suckiness is borderline hysterical. I must’ve written it when I was asleep or something. Let’s go with that.

There’s this really big rumor
floating around that paper is dead.
Don’t worry, though, I’m sure
the trees didn’t revolt.
It’s just that this internet
is the new playground bully
and it stomped around so
hard that the tiny papers
and glossy magazines (and
books!) all ran to the swings
on the other side
of the fence – where
readers don’t care to wander.

But I’m not too concerned.
Because one day the school
bully slammed his head
into the jungle gym while
trying to push me to the ground.
My computer is at the repair
shop so I picked up this
book of poems by Aaron
Smith. He’s pretty good.

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