I Knew Him, Mr. Pickles

This eulogy for a stranger, oh Pickles!

Swore I off this day that folds in coats

of warmly minted bad breath.

It makes me cringe when hinges

of badly positioned internal rhymes

squeak like weak meat picnics!

Give me the veil, the tarnished toilet,

let me vanquish a generational hangover

and purge me of my dear

beloved cat

Mr. Pickles.

Oh, this finale for a midget!

It's small hands flailing like plastic bags

breakdancing in the wind.

How I wish for a new day

full of awful British accents

and a battalion of toast

to spread over my dear

beloved cat

Mr. Pickles.

Oh, this banana crouton catchphrase!

Peeing in the snow may write a name

but the mountain won't memorize the alphabet.

And every haiku

Has to be about nature

Extra points for death.

Oh, I knew him, Mr. Pickles!

I knew his butter knife shape

frozen, shameless, caught in a revolving

door of temptation.

RHUBARB! RHUBARB! RHUBARB!