Cursive


I swear I hate cursive,
though I write it all the time.

Try not to use those words in vain,
when they pop into my mind.

The handwriting is on the stall,
in sleazy restrooms all the time.

When number two I do,
sometimes in perfect rhyme.

I epithet under my breath,
to make a silent point.

If they knew what I really said,
they’d throw me out of the joint.

So what's a poet to do,
when these words pop into view?

I just grin and bear it,
and let it all hang out for you.

A little alliteration always helps,
to shed light on the scenes.

Peter Piper picked his pecker,
in Poughkeepsie, soiled his jeans.

I try not to use God's words too much,
only when they come with ease.

"Judas's Priest!" I often shout,
so much better than saying, "Geez!"

You say that cursive is just handwriting?
And not writing bad words to make a rhyme?

Nevermind




My Scanned Signature

I stopped writing cursive shortly after I
was paralyzed, and took up architectural/
engineering lettering because it was easier
for me. I could no longer handwrite
anything after 1997 because my torso
was too unsteady. I scanned my signature
back then. If it weren’t for the keyboard
and voice recognition I wouldn’t be writing today

This little bit of sick humor came from an
informative article, followed by a comment.
So in my own irreverent way, I stole a little bit
from Popeye Doyle and Gilder Radner.

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Copyright 2014 © Ronald W. Hull

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