- I, Simmons, Poet -
(Halo (c) Microsoft Studios, Bungie & related creators; Red vs. Blue (c) the Rooster Teeth team. Text (c) L.Q. Coverdale.
After each and every day
In armour heavy and maroon,
I retreat to the sanity-clad sanctity
Of one of Red Base's many dirty rooms.
When I look hither and thither
And no one is around,
I slide out a plain-looking notebook
With barely a passing sound.
If Sarge should find me scrawling,
He would have me on the ground,
Absolutely scrambling and crawling
Yelling that I was not a man, loud as a hound.
If Donut found these sacred pages,
He'd go on and on all day;
Decking the halls with purple prose
With energy tiring and fey.
And so, I gently open the covers,
And pick up my sword-slaying pen;
With a breath most deep and calming,
I get to work there and then.
Oh how I lament the language's loss;
These buffoons know nothing of class!
Instead of words like "whimsicalness" or "defecation",
I must listen to something more crass!
Here I lay, with my notebook in hand,
Writing words Shakespeare would adore;
Instead of describing old lunch as "grey-brown goo",
Here it is written, "ugly russet and chartreuse", nevermore.
(Dear me, that did sound wordy ...)
What ho? Is that Grif?
Oh, he'd be the worst!
I am already a nerd in his eyes ... a poor, terrible nerd.
That fiend in an orange-painted shell!
Slothful fiend, zounds,
All is not well!
I scramble to put the notebook back in place.
He comes through very shortly, portly,
Having just changed into nightclothes.
I answer grumpily to his greeting,
Watching as to the fridge he goes.
(What is with him and snack cakes?)
My surly glare is locked with his glazed,
He mutters curses,
Wondering if I am crazed.
He takes the snack cakes and leaves.
(Furthermore, why is there is cheese dip?
Why does he even keep the cakes in the fridge?)
I wait, breath bated, for the chance to strike!
To take out my pen and notebook again,
And write, write, write!
(This urges me to say, "Hurry up, you - "
Oh, this poetry of mine,
Too beautiful to soil
With words less than divine.)
He leaves, grumbling quiet thunder most crass,
Like a shadow too obvious,
An idiot and a pig
Who stares at me all too strangely ...