Bad Odes

One Word Week: Chalupa

Today’s word: Chalupa. Since I’m running a little short on time, I thought I’d write a bad ode to the Chalupa. Honestly, the poem works better if you read it out loud with a dramatic pause or two, adding weight to the words, and then record it and post it on Youtube so you can make my year. Thanks.



Oh, crispy flour tortilla cradling a meaty center snuggled with cheese and sour cream... You turn me on But only when I’m really, really drunk And everything is beautiful And everything sounds like a good idea Especially you, (And sending out text messages at 3am To old boyfriends Who are now married and have orders for me not to contact them.)

Chalupa! I call your name from the bottom of my spirit. You are a warrior call! A hunter’s call! I’m on a hunt. For you.

You make my loins Quiver… … …. Okay. Actually, that’s the alcohol. But you, Chalupa, you feed my soul. You are there for me when I need you. You will enter my mouth and I will lick you And then swallow you whole And then totally regret it later when I have the spins and I’m on the floor of my bathroom sobbing about all the mistakes I’ve made in life and wishing I wasn’t as old and chubby and dream-broken as I am.

But right now, Chalupa, You are my everything. I love you. Let me unwrap you with my teeth. I can totally do that because someone else is driving. I don’t know who but… Ah. It’s my mom. Whatever. Chalupa, become one with me. Dance the spirit dance. Make me buoyant. Light. Fill the emptiness in my stomach But also in my soul. Be my thirty-second boyfriend. Ole.


Bad Ode-- Ode to Rain -- By Schulyer & Tanya

LIke a good flash thunderstorm, I present you with a good (bad) flash ode...written by Schulyer Esperanza and Tanya Eby. Follow Schulyer on Twitter @ReadersInk . Try your own flash bad ode, or write one with a friend. It'll make you feel good for being able to be so bad.


You are little drops of hell on my head

You're like that Chinese Water Torture

(or is that politically incorrect?)



You're a cold bastard.

I wipe you from my face

And wash you from my hair

Like I did that loser from last night;

I'm cold as you are.

And like that dude from last night

You better bring me flowers

Or I will never


Forgive you.





Bad Ode-- Ode To Spring--Pole Dance Of Love

Oh, Spring, glorious Spring

You’re like one of those dancers,

you know,

a lap dancer

where you taunt and tease and titillate,

but The Man can’t touch!

Oh, no. He can’t.

You just want his dollar bills.

You tease me like that, Spring,

and it’s worse because I don’t even have

a dollar to give you.

You seduce me with promises of

flowers and birdsongs

and balmy nights where I can wear nothing

but a secret

and yet

and yet

you hit me with ice.

You’re frigid, Spring.

Open up for me, please.

I want you.

I need you.

I go down on my knees for you.

Show me the full monty, Spring,

and I,

I will give you everything,

which admittedly isn’t much,

but I will give you my love.

And a dollar…as soon as I earn one

on this internal pole from which I hang

with one leg wrapped around

and the other reaching