Pair of poems

I started writing and this is what I came up with. They're raw and uncut and probably infected. With cynicism.

Annoying Button Poem: Let's see if I can piss anyone else off

Button up, button down.
Too many buttons.
They keep butting in,
“I’m lost!,” they shout,
“you missed me, you missed me.”
Now my shirt’s a mess and
I pushed her buttons down the stairs,
I hit the computer keys out of the ballpark.
The wrong one’s right in front of my face,
how can I resist her belly button?
I should have sewed it up a long time ago,
but I don’t know, I was on the button bubble.
She leaves it buttoned almost to the top,
so she can just throw it on when she needs to go.
I wouldn’t mind having a go at her, I miss unbuttoning so.
There’s a button at the bottom of the garment next to a tag that says “Made in Mexico,”
if only I could push it and that’s where I’d go.
I’m looking for the one labeled eject,
found it yet, I haven’t.

Different Drum

Productive day’s never good enough,
I ask too much of myself,
Sometimes I want to sleep it all away.
Three days of newspaper never read,
I want the ads, but they don’t want me.
My warm milk melted my cereal,
and the coffee’s cold.
This is getting old, where are the new people,
to drag me out of the house, undressed, kicking screaming,
I’ve been California dreaming far too long, I’ll thank you for it later.
Find a song that suits my mood, I knew I wasn’t the only one
to find Sunday’s sprawl kinda rude, TV makes me feel guilty.
I’m just humming to a different drum.
One by one by one
clones of me march by.
Shedding skin.
Committing sin.
Telling jokes, telling lies,
getting ready for my big expiration date.
I don’t know if parting’s such sweet sorrow,
as I go marching by It beats my different drum,
but for my deserted dessert I’ll have pecan pie.
Perhaps no ending is appropriate; I’ll leave you hanging, drummer girls and boys,
as dragging days left me wading through old news and food,
I tried to keep up, I really tried.