A Valentine’s Day Poem

“I fucking hate Valentine’s Day,”
Said junior Peggy Ann McKay.
“I have six midterms tomorrow,
For DM, I must donate my marrow.
My roommate is such a great bore,
Dating that bro two years or more.
It’s much more fun to be a whore,
That’s what living in Bobb is for!
They hold hands watching Netflix,
They think iPhones are for self-pics.
He bought her Franzia with his friend’s fake –
I don’t know how much more I can take.
They post on each other’s Facebook walls,
He buys her presents of chocolate and shawls.
They have sex eight times each damn week,
Finding his boxers is like a game of hide-and-seek.
They coordinate their outfits from Urban,
They volunteer together for Dick Durbin.
Every day, they talk about how they met,
And places in Evanston they haven’t eaten at yet.
This holiday is all a sham.
I should make that kosher bitch eat ham.
With the one dollar rose and two cent card,
Like holding hands on Sheridan is hard,
Like they need an excuse to cuddle,
Like they think kissing when I’m not looking is subtle:
I’d tear that red heart into–what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You’d like to go out with me on Valentine’s Day?
Yes please! This is my favorite holiday.”

Inspired by Shel Silverstein’s “Saturday”

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