Believe me, I get it
You turned all your jeans into jorts
And now you're worried
...
Creatures who lurk behind everything you don't do
Would like to say hello
Treat them the way you treat grass
...
Please don't make fun of how I dance
My reign as Groove Tiger is almost done
My body is made to wear clothes and tear poses
...
Ty is an internet-based creative type, author, poet, and communications professional. Between 2013 and 2017, Ty created & published books of poetry Hool, a week into the weird, The Bronze Age, melon cereal, better by foot,100 Word of the Day Poems, and TRAPPED IN DEJA VU TV, all of which are currently retired. Ty has also performed improv for hypothetical products he created, The Guy with the Giant Business Card and Pocket Egg. Learn more at tylerfugazzie.com.)
Jorts
Believe me, I get it
You turned all your jeans into jorts
And now you're worried
What were you thinking and what will people think?
You were so certain all the seasons were gone
But you still believed in summer
We've conditioned the air to turn
Us all into a gross & sweaty tub
What an orchestrated gag
Don't ever let anyone rain on your parade
At least you still have pockets
Say goodbye to whatever's meant to b
If you lop off the bottom of this poem
It too would become a pair of jorts
Just another way to leave my legs ajar
I know you're tired of this parade
Broken promises surrounding all the seasons
Too conditioned to believe in summer
Jeans only baggy or snug
Joy only begged or sung
Certain of at least a little rain