It’s (Almost) The Most Snoopy-est Time of the Year

Hello and happy Thursday, everybody. I am currently sweating over the delivery status of a Sesame Street suit and tie I ordered from Kohl’s, and I hope you never need to suffer this anguish.

Semi-related to said Sesame Street suit that I will not get into, because of the holiday next week, The Reign of Big Slaughtered Birds, I will be across the country and also not posting. I encourage you to also not post. It’s a horrible scourge.

However, here at Stupid Poetry HQ, December is going to be one to remember. That’s right, it‘a our First Annual Stupid Poetry Snoopycember!

Now what is Snoopycember, you might ask? Well, you know that crazy little guy. The dog who’s best friends with a depressed bald child. The last 2 years, I have put it upon myself to write a poem about or featuring Snoopy every single day in the month of December. Why? You might ask. And what I‘d ask you in return is how could I not and how are you not writing hundreds of poems about Snoopy.

I want to give a little sneak peak of Snoopycember. This year, I am writing out daily Snoopy-related prompts ahead of time to share so that the world can join in paying tribute to our One Great Equalizer. I will send these out in a special post on Monday, December 1st.

I’ll still be making my regular Thursday posts, but you’ve guessed it, they will all be about Snoopy. And additionally, every Monday after the 1st, I will be sending out a digest highlighting some of my favorites of this year’s Snoopy poems. So if you see that Stupid Poetry subject line in your inbox on a Monday and think “wait a second isn’t this usually Thursday? I am genuinely unsure because I have a rich and varied inner life that keeps me busy and means I don’t always remember when certain emails come at what times??” don’t be alarmed!

I’ll get a little bit more into the genesis and philosophies behind Snoopycember once we get there, but since this is the last newsletter before that, I wanted to give this little preview and end on a poem from last year’s festivities. See ya next month!

the curse and the blessing of the dead end 

where the curb’s curve cradles 

                                 what’s left of a happy meal 

hail falls on cardboard, ketchup packet, 

                                                        plastic snoopy

wearing a baseball mit, catching the stones, 

                                         chipping his paint

when i was young i used to dream 

                        that i was in the drivers seat 

    of a car i couldn’t drive, already rolling 

                                                      out of my control

when there was nowhere left to go 

                     i stood through the sunroof and waived

a box cutter to the moon 

why wouldn’t i, 

                       when pavement crumbles into wilted lilies, 

              when the street lights are burning trees

          when the insurance doesn’t cover the surgery

why would i cower at the foot of the clocktower ive wrapped my car around

                 when every dollar i don’t have 

       winds its arms another degree 

 what is left to do but scrape every bit of debris 

    every golden arch every french fry every ice cube 

and mash it all into your skin as you press against 

    the cold concrete, as you cradle yourself in the world waiting at the end of the road. you throw your hail back up to the sky, 

          watch it land on snoopy, play catch                               with plastic pasts 

  until they have nothing left to give