The Homecoming Poem

A Letter From Matt Schrader, the Homecoming Poem.

No! not a generic greeting! AAAAAHHHH!!!! well, get used to it. So how is everyone out there? I haven't heard from everyone in ages, uh- oh, It's poem time! I hope you forgive the vulgarity... :)

'Twas the night before homecoming, and all through our home,
Every teenager was stirring, even my pal Jerome. (forced rhyme, oooff!)
The stockings were put on every girl's leg with care,
In hopes that some hot guy would sit there and stare. (that one was better )
She tries on the dress, he tries on the suit,
wondering if they look bad, and give it the boot.
"Which tie should I wear?", "Do these shoes look nice?"
They wish for your humble, yet glorifying advice.
They turn out the light, all ready for bed,
Then they think to themselves, "should I have worn red?" ( there's that forced rhyme again)
They wake in the morning all refreshed and new,
Juniors take the PSAT's, and Sophomores too.
The tests are all over, the fun has begun,
but why is it called fun if next to no one
enjoys getting ready, the hair appointment before,
What is it they're all hurried to get ready for?
What is the problem? It's just a silly dance,
Find something magical, I'll give you one chance.
find out what makes homecoming so gosh darn appealing,
to make everyone need to lay down and look at the ceiling. (doe, that forced rhyme again, but I needed the segue.)
Counting ceiling cracks, how many are there?
That crisscross together, like little strands of hair.
The hair of your loved one, the hair of your date,
Who's presence in the room makes you want to procreate.
It's for him or her that you do this,
Or maybe it was peer pressure that brought it.
But just wait until the goodnight kiss,
and you'll be saying "Fuckin' Shit!" (sorry Eric) I just got kissed by someone, (was it Bach?)
and I don't even know him too well,
Will this person call me his special someone,
or will he forget me and damn me to hell.
That's this reason we go to the dance,
It's this reason we care.
We're giving everyone a chance,
To show 'em what you got there.
And that's the end to this lovely poem,
I hope you forgive the mess.
For I wrote it in my room at home,
and at the time, was wearing a dress.
(One, two, three, "Shut up Rob!")

By Matt Schrader
Silly Man Publications

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