Student poems continued.

El Bobo the Ho
By Elizabeth Miller

There once was a girl named El Bobo
Who looks much like some kind of hobo.
She danced naked on stage
STD’s ‘bout a page.
She’s known around Wheeling as a ho.

 The Boogeyman
By Katie Ralbusky

I remember the monster that haunted me.
With invisible claws as sharp as kitchen knives.
A voice softer than the whisper of the wind through the grass.
The smell of iron followed it like blood from a wounded animal.
I saw only the eyes as bright as the sun piercing through the darkness.
I will never forget the keeper of my nightmares.

  Does That Complete Your Order?

By Kayla Waite

The high-pitched beep-beep of the headset sounds,
and I ask how I can help this customer,
who is obviously in desperate need of my help,
causing the voice on the other side to bark what sounds like,
“I would like a large Hi-C.”
“Hi-C Orange?” I clarify.
“Is there any other kind?”
this clever customer demands,
and I, clearly not as clever,
as I take the question seriously, respond,
“Not here.”
This is received by hearty laughter, so I give the total,
never bothering to explain that it is impossible
to distinguish between the words Hi-C and iced tea
when they are uttered over that shitty speaker.
Yet, despite my assumed stupidity,
thank all the gods I asked the question,
because the wrong drink would have inevitably
ruined this customer’s entire day.

 Second Base

By Jacob Flatley

I remember playing wiffle ball at the old house.
Leaping in the air and landing awkwardly,
the cracking of bones and the thud of hitting the ground
fill the air.
I open my eyes to see my joint dangling.
I will always remember second base in the backyard.

 Into the Past
(Paring down of The Great Gatsby)

By Jacob Flatley

As I sat there brooding on the old world, I thought of Gatsby’s
When he first picked out the light at Daisy’s dock.
He came to this blue lawn and his dream so close that he could
hardly grasp it.
It was already behind him, somewhere beyond the city,
where the fields rolled under the night.
Gatsby believed in the light,
the future that year by year recedes before us.
Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out farther.
So we beat on, boats against the current,
borne back ceaselessly into the past.

 A Linguist Who Is Offended by a Word Is like a Dentist Who Is Offended by Teeth

By Kayla Waite

of all the things in the world that SHOULD offend you
the word fuck is not one of them
it’s a word
a fucking word
save it for things that are truly heinous.
serious crimes
like people putting up their Christmas lights before Thanksgiving
that certainly offends me
but fuck?
fuck does not offend me
and if the neighbors spelled fuck with their green and red lights
that wouldn’t offend me either
because a word should not offend anyone
a word is not hatred
nor is it intolerance
nor starvation
nor disease
a word is not selfishness
nor cruelness
nor apathy
a word is not war
and the only thing the word fuck should signify
is what not go give one of when you encounter it