Wait For It… a blog by Andy Ross

Ode To A Swan

Oh, you swan;
You beautiful swan;
You swan which swam,
Swimming so swan-like and so on.
Swim, you swan. Swim.

Now wander, swan.
Wander, waddling the along warm sand.
Waddle towards that trash can;
And stretch your swan-ish neck
To check for Annette’s discarded hamburger.
Who knew swans wanted McDonalds?

Now, hiss;
Hiss, you swan.
Hiss at that kid whose wrist you will hit;
Swinging your long neck
And smacking it, stingingly, upon that kid’s back.
You are an evil hissing bitch, swan.
I know you’re male swan, but you’re still a bitch.

Like some old, once-handsome Broadway star
That I accidently make eye contact with at Borders;
And, the dude starts screaming about his privacy;
And I’m all like, “Whoa, I don’t even know who you are, dude.”
And, the mean, old queen turns green
And pats his heart with a salmon-colored scarf
And, dejectedly seeks his autobiography;
But, they don’t carry it. Why would they?

You are like that old dude, swan;
Except worse, because you hit kids;
And get away with it because you’re a wild animal.
You’re a jerk, swan.
So, why don’t you go jerk off, swan?

Ooooh, look at me, I’m a swan.
Fuck you.