That Math Problem

Some fifth graders want to give up / too soon
Say it’s impossible / to solve

But I’ve never given them a problem
That can’t be solved

From time to time / some of the problems
Have more than one solution

Those are the most fun
The opposite of impossible

But that still misses the point
The fun is not in the solution

It’s in the solving

/ / /

This poem was written to the impossible poem prompt at Poetic Asides.


Its uh good state two bee inn.
Their iz noh shame inn bearing you’re sole.

You’re spelling May bee bazaar
Az ewe try too comprise an assay,

Butt get you’re words down inn teh frist draught.
Ewe may allways revision them latter.

Ewe must except teh citation,
And entitle you’re assay w/ flare.

Bee shure too sight you’re situations,
And innclued them inn you’re biography.

Peak you’re readers innterest;
Thay will no too what ewe elude.

Do knot censure you’re thoughts,
Butt bee conscience uv discomfit.

Latter, appraise you’re work,
And fax those capitol letters.

Riting will take ewe from confusion
Too uh state uv clearity.

/ / /

This poem was written to the state poem prompt at Poetic Asides and inspired by the day fourteen prompt at NaPoWriMo, especially Taylor Mali’s poem.

Uber for drag queens

Hey, babe,
you’re looking good.
What number
are you doing
at the Stud tonight?

It’s Oscar night.
I’m lip-syncing
to Meryl Streep
in “Mamma Mia”
singing “Winner Takes It All.”

I was a wreck
getting ready.

If you are putting on a face
for whatever reason –
drag queen,
burlesque dancer –
and you have to get to SoMa
for your show,
it’s a little iffy
to try to flag down a cab.

I kept running into drivers
who assume if you’re in drag,
you must be a prostitute.

The drag queens
of San Francisco
were our greatest advertising.
Pretty soon
every gay guy in town
was calling Homobiles
for a ride.
All kinds of butches
and femmes
and transmen
and transwomen –
every letter
in the alphabet soup.

They were so happy
and relieved
to have safe transportation.

We’re there
to get you where
you want to go
in a safe little portal
so you don’t have
to run a gauntlet
and defend yourself
from all kinds
of weird energy
and worse.

/ / /

This poem was found in response to Oulipo prompt 1, which I got from Margo Roby. My source was “Homobiles: When catching a ride can be such a drag”.