I’m. So. Bored.
By Layla, 15, Illinois
The platypus is a wonderful thing
So are philanthropy, insects, and toddlers that cling
Lightning has quite the metallic zing
So do schedules, potted plants, and a wedding ring.
So what’s the point of this poem, you ask?
Of boredom, of listlessness, to successfully mask?
To speak of apples, the Titanic and more?
To prevent a sorrowful occasional snore?
Well, then, this question I ask of you
Have you a parakeet, and a muskrat, too?
Are you muscular, or thin as a snake?
Do you like to bake mussels in your birthday cake?
This boredom poem’s really not making sense
Perhaps I should then gain some interest?
But what would I have? Two minutes of this?
Oh really, I’d rather know your bucket list!
Do you want to snorkel, or dive into candy
Are you wishing to make yourself gloriously handy
Stirring chocolate into motor oil sauce
Or perhaps molding libraries into personal kiosks?
Oh, wow! I think that this really works
I’m now no longer in the boredom lurch!
Oh dear. What happens when this poem is over?
Will boredom, to me sitting here, be rediscovered?
Here’s all I will say to these matters now
I must go to see the snow be plowed
Even though I’m in Australia, living in summer
I can still think of it, even though it might be a bummer.
The anchovy is a horrible thing, and that’s all
So are chains, pork rinds, and Post-It’s that fall
The idea of boredom is so endlessly chafing
That random poetry soon becomes relating!
I was sitting at my desk, with nothing to do
So I thought I’d write a poem, to share with you
Boredom can be a spark, so don’t count it out
‘Cause if you have writer’s block, boredom’s a word spout!
