Anthony Borruso

Ode to Labubu

I never wrote a poem about Honey Boo Boo,  
and now I regret it. Timeliness is not 
my forte. I spent a full decade  
wanting a Razor scooter and  
kicking rocks. Then I wrote  
poems about comets 
and caverns and realizations 
refracting in a river’s current. 
There was no Furby turned oracle 
in my closet, or Thor swinging 
his hammer right into my eyes 
as I sucked a Milk Dud sweet. 
It’s always been, for me, bland eternity. 
A stone that comprehends no when,  
grows smooth out of sheer boredom,  
but not perfectly, not with battery-operated  
sentience, not like a Tamagotchi. 

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