Sun Ra said that space is the place.
He got that right.
Space is the place where I’d like to be.
Uncluttered and peaceful I’m free:
put up my feet, spread my papers and books
Not have to put up with those looks.
You know what I mean?
J’accuse, Mommie Dearest!
Get outta my way! That’s where
I’m playing with Legos today.
Ok. So the couch then. Nope,
I guess not; Barbie lives there,
and the little snot with the body
has more clothes than me:
Barbie couture from Dior and Gucci!
If I try to sit at the other end,
Oh the things with which my poor
Tushy must fend. Very small shoes
In plastic, by dozens, designed for
Barbie and her forty odd cousins,
Demented toddlers, most with no hair,
Looking slightly befouled they await
The stray foot at the top of the stair.
Maybe the kitchen is where I can be
But one look and I’m bitchin because
I see dead juice boxes
Scattered about, empty cheese stick
Wrappers and close by the snout
Of my dog, O God help me
Another small shoe, which I
Wrestle away before she can chew.
I flee to the bathroom.
Just give me some space! But what
Do I see in my last hiding place?
The final frontier? Peering up
From the top of the hamper
All slick and agleam:
The “Get Organized Catalogue”
And all I can think as around me
My world continues to shrink is
In space, no one can hear you scream.
*please note this description was coined by someone infinitely more creative than myself on another thread spouting off definitions of haiku--for those literalist bogged in symantics, I offer this...all my 'haiku' is pooku.