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Sample Poems by Barry Dickson
The Adverbial World Of Match.Com

Your profile says that you are quite.
It also states you can be very. Sometimes even very very.
In addition, I see that you are partly and slightly,
not to mention mostly, though you did mention it nine times.
Thanks for writing, but I'm looking
for someone who's extremely.
I also have a soft spot in my heart for highly,
but there I'll try to compromise.
One place, however, I will not bend.
You mention several times you never.
Forgive me, please, I'd like someone
who at least occasionally.
And frankly, even at my age,
I wouldn't mind a mate who often.

The Refrigerator-Light Controversy: Solved

It goes out.
I know this for sure because as a child
I got stuck in there. Slam!
Trust me, it goes out.
By the way, it's not just Slam! It's Brrrr!, too.
I can report to you, also, it goes back on
when your mother opens the door
to get some jelly
and there's her son in a jam,
curled up next to the nectarines
like this year the holiday turkey
is wearing little Reeboks.
She screams. Then begins to tremble.
Imagine, I'm the one stuck in the cold
but she trembles.
Boy, it's all about you, huh, mom?

Next week: The Chicken-Egg Controversy: Solved.

Faux Real

I would not dare buy a real fur
for this lovely, liberal lover of the furry.
So in I went to Feinstein's Furs
for the best faux fur real money could buy.
"Nineteen hundred sixty-six," Fanny Feinstein quoted.
"For a faux fur?" I asked.
"There's this one over here for 799," she replied.
"Looks just as good to me,
what would be the difference?"
"This one," said Fanny, "is not a real faux fur."
"Gimme the best you got. Gimme the real fake thing."

Lucinda was delighted with the faux fur that I bought her.
She stripped, and put on her faux fur.
As we made love, I did my usual yelling
though slightly muffled through faux fur.
Lucinda seemed to scream a little, too.
Afterward, I couldn't help but wonder.
"Was that orgasm real?" I asked. She looked defensive.
"Have you ever faked one?" I persisted.
She paused. "Well, you know there was the night
we discussed if you could tell."
"Yes," I said. "You claimed you had just faked one and that I didn't know.
But I thought you didn't really fake it, you were just saying so."
"But why would I fake faking it?" she asked me from her faux.

The next thing that we always do is turn on the TV.
And there they were, the Presidential candidates.
"You know," I said, "it strikes me that they are saying
what they think we want to hear."
"Yes," replied Lucinda. "but sometimes
they really do believe what they are saying."
"You mean that they are faking their sincerity
but sometimes they mean it when they fake?" I asked
snuggling up to her and her faux fur.

I finally had enough faux faking for one day and fell asleep.
Soon I began to dream.
Now, dreams by definition are all fake.
You're not really flying. Your teeth aren't really falling out.

But, you see, dreams never are faux fake.
They put on their little show and go away when you awake.
They don't hang around to overcharge you.
Or manipulate your vote. Or trick you with their lust.
Dreams are what this world needs more of:
A faker you can trust.

Birds Of A Feather

Tiny sparrows come begging
for crumbs from my morning sandwich--
what a way to make a living.

Yet soon, inside, we will light
on our chairs, competing for bread,
scouring the halls for morsels of approval,
tilting our heads at little angles
to listen for hints on what to say next,
inching toward telling the truth
then flying away at the first sign of danger.