N.E. Bode

First of all, let me introduce myself. I am N.E. Bode and you should know that I went to the Alton School for the Remarkably Giftless. And so I do not know much about
a. poems
b. presidents
c. What's a "swinging glass"? My glasses do not swing. They sit in my cupboards -- though what they do when the door shuts, that's there business. (I'm a liberal.)
I had a poetry teacher who believed that poetry was better kept trapped in your head. She kept hers trapped in her head -- under her beehive hairdo. She kept it there while she worked as a medical transcriptionist while teaching us -- in her own way by a style of modeling -- to keep most things trapped in our heads. We also kept mathematics, biology and history trapped in our heads. 
Here is something I know about Lincoln. He was tall. 
But I would like to write something here -- because this is my fifteen minutes of fame -- make that 9:49 minutes .. make that 9:43 .... minutes of fame ... 
I'd like to write a poem about ... 1860.
Here's what I know about 1860.
People wore wooly clothing. Wooly clothing does not breathe well. 
Therefore the 1860s did not smell very good.
I should rhyme something with Well and Good.
I am not swell. I do not like hoods.
Hoods pin down my natural lushes curls.
I should rhyme something with curls.
I do not wish to hurl.
Hurling during my 15 minutes of fame (7:26 minutes... or 7:18 minutes ...) would be, well, embarrassing. 
And yet right now, I feel quite anxious. I am by nature an axious person! I just misspelled anxious! (Spelling, too, was best taught by trapping the spelling words in your head and not discussing them much. In other words, SHUT UP WHILE MRS. MULOOLY IS TRYING TO MAKE A DECENT WAGE AS A MEDICAL TRANSCRIPTIONIST ESPECIALLY NOW THAT HER OVERWEIGHT EGOMANIACAL SOON TO BE EX-HUSBAND HAS LEFT HER TO RUN OFF WITH THAT FLOOZY FROM THE DMV!) ((There are a few things that I recall almost verbatim from my education at the Alton School for the Remarkably Giftless.))
And now I am breathing into a bag. I should rhyme something with bag.
Later I will vacuum the shag rug.
But that isn't quite right, is it?
It's hard to breathe into a bag and type simultaneously.
I should try to rhyme something with simultaneously!!!!
I can only think of the very scientific term -- and I hope no one thinks me blue here -- anus. 
But that is not quite a full rhyme.
Alas, I don't know how to end this. 
It will not end well. 
Fly, be free poem!
 Go on...
Get off of me!
LET GO!
:39 seconds of fame left ... I'm plastered in this poem ... like ... like ... okay ... wait .. it'll come to me ... i've got it ... here it is ... now finally ... perfecto ... here you go : what do you think of this:  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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