Thursday, November 4, 2010

An ode to my Igloo Playmate cooler

My playmate’s walls doth shield things from the sun,
Kansas is far more flat, than her lid flat,
If snow be white, why then her inside’s dun:
Her lid peaked high, is nowhere that I’ve sat:
But ice therein melts not on sunny days,
Cold bottles she doth keep to cool my cheeks,
To give most sweet of all post-race solace,
That first cold drink, which cares not that one reeks.
And though she doth not speak, yet well I know,
That music hath no more a pleasing sound:
Than the clicking ere lid tips open so,
Presenting thus thirst quenchers all around.
And yet by heaven I feel such deep despair,
If her contents pre-race I don’t prepare.


  1. Wow. Someone should get you a centerfold pinup of that there playmate.

  2. Is there ahead in there? Under were?

  3. That was beautiful. It just gave me the Best Idea Ever: you should do a Poetry Theme Week where you blog about your usual stuff- Cross, Skiing, Stripper-Moms, Riding over defenseless wildlife whatever- but do the entire week in poem format. That would be awesome!

  4. Are you trying to get rid of the readers you gained with your sandbagger post? Good work.