by MARK MANSFIELD
It's getting better all the time.
Trouble was your middle name.
You now have trouble remembering that you have one.
When you were four,
your imaginary playmate ditched you for a troll
Your nose is a grindstone,
and your gal calls herself Doodley Squat.
Your hero is the guy who invented loitering.
Blah is your favorite color.
Your car's rear bumper sticker reads
The only time you ever made out,
you Belgian kissed.
You loved it.
You easily confuse "Taps" with tap dancing.
Consequently, you have been barred from barracks
and cemeteries for life.
Your name appears in The Guinness Book of Records
for doing pretty much next to nothing
for longer than anyone who ever lived.
Nostradamus accurately foresaw and predicted
you were never here.
MARK MANSFIELD grew up in Kentucky, Ohio, Kansas, Alabama, Virginia, and Taiwan, where he graduated from high school. He received a B.A. in English from Virginia Commonwealth University and M.A. in Writing from Johns Hopkins. His poems have appeared in Blue Mesa Review, The Evansville Review, Fourteen Hills, Gargoyle, Good Foot, Magma, Orbis, and Salt Hill. He currently lives in Geneva, New York.