Poem Session 2

So I'm still in Last Poet Standing, and I got 3 more poems for you America. The first poem my prompt was an old ugly tie (We were all given different items). The prompt for the second poem was Shel Silverstein, and the Third Poem was an open, no prompt week. Oh and the lines of the 3rd poem got screwed up but I'm too tired right now to fix it.

What's In An Acronym?

Last week there was Doorknobs, Toy cars, random assortments of Items and a Tie.
I’m the guy with the tie.
A Red, mothballed, frayed, out of date, medium width piece of threadbare neckwear.
With letters SSC
Not Boldly emblazoned and embroidered to embolden it’s wearer to do great things
Just plain SSC.
Sewn in like it’s a stain in the carpet and the family budget has no room for the cleaners
So what does it mean?
Google’s top two results say it stands for Shelby Super Cars, or South Suburban College
Cooler and Lamer than expected.

Maybe it means Social Security is for Crooks? Suicidal Syrians are Coming?
A bit too Right-Wing
Or possibly it stands for Swim Scantily Clad, or Study Soley Clinton
Way too left-wing
What if it means Smoke Smoke you Children! Or Smack and Scorn Canadians
That’s be terrible!
It’d be fun if it was Sandwiches Stuffed with Chicken, or Sweetly Sauced Cakes
But I’m not that lucky
Hopefully it’s not Sariah’s Sorta Cranky or Save Sariah from Carnage!
I like Sariah
It just might stand for Sorry I Shot the Cat, or Still Stuck in California
But on a Tie?
I’m out of Ideas… Sorta Sandy Camels… or Sexy Senior Citizen?!
Bingo.

Questions
How does Captain Hook pick his nose?
How do you write poems on a giraffe’s neck while riding it?
How do you make a hippopotamus sandwich?
Could a turtle and a bagpipe have a long-term relationship?
Could you really let the garbage stack so high that the whole world would die?
Could a polar bear fit in my fridge?
What do sardines dream about when their stuck in the can?
What do you do to appease a trash talking reindeer?
And what in the world does one name his pet Brontosaurus?
Why doesn’t anyone care about Christmas… in March?
Why can’t you just plug a light bulb into the sun?
And why wouldn’t you this read book by my friend Shel
Who answered every question I’ve ever had.

Heat Lamp

If you reach out you can touch it.
The only warmth in this white January meadow somewhere in the Frank Church Wilderness
3 others in their mummy bags curled around the same sacred vicarious edifice.
The logs turned to carbon hours ago, as the conversation was gradually replaced by chattering teeth
The communal bonfire like our "Indian forebears" gathered round is now an orange light,
surrogate warmth umbilical cord for us quadruplets in our Polyethylene womb.
replacing the caveman’s most precious child other than his cave paintings
Curl your fingers around the grate though and you’ll be burned by what’s keeping us alive
Powered by propane, similar technology to what keeps your burgers warm at jack-in-the-box, making us into human burritos.
The cold empty death kept at bay by some layers of polyester and a heat lamp.
Joseph rolls one more time hoping to find that less bumpy spot he imagined
The slither and whoosh of plastic textiles reminds me I’m not the only human here
It’s hard for him because he’s only twelve and hasn’t grown that crusty shell we have
But his cocoon is as well built as anyone’s and he’ll save his breathe to keep warm
4 sleeping together in self-contained saran-wrapped bags. More like twinkies in a box than scouts in a tent
We don’t quite look like the kids they have in the handbook.