This was a silly poem I wrote for our Floetry writing challenge last year, but I liked how it turned out. Enjoy!
Ron Swanson Listens to Flo
I’ve never been a man into the hippie dippy subculture of America.
I think they’re lunatics, soft and turning children into inept adults,
but what the heck, my stepdaughter asked me to listen to this
Florence and some machine she’s a part of? I don’t know.
This Florence woman, her music may not by my tastes,
but damn, can she sing. Not my usual fare, but I can
appreciate and recognize a true artist dedicated to her craft.
If my little girl is going to listen to any singer, I’d rather it be “Flo”
as she calls her, rather than those pretty boy bands who sing some
nonsense about not knowing she’s beautiful makes a girl beautiful?
Please. I’d set my good friend Leslie on them in a heartbeat if I got the chance.
Ah, now this song, this is some good subject matter.
Miss Flo, you minx, trying to butter me up with a good piece of poetry
about a wood carver. I respect that.
Yes, yes this is true. Building not just for work and not just for play.
Wow, she really gets it. I must say I’m impressed.
Coffins are a bit macabre for my taste, but I suppose someone has to build them.
Death is an inevitability; no use in denying its existence.
I dare say, I could sit and carve one of my own chairs
listening to this song all day.
Miss Flo, you’re alright.