Beanies

I don’t think I wore my beanie at all last winter.

I took it with me all the time on the bus and in the car just in case I needed it when I got out but I never did.

Beanies always remind me of buds

How they sit clamped over your head

Protecting your ears and the soft skin of cheeks

Like buds protect blossoms.

I guess I needed protecting or maybe just the feeling of being protected.

As spring got closer I kept hanging out for a really cold day

Like kids hang out for xmas.

Having a winter without beanies is like having a summer without going for a swim.

You feel cheated.

  • when was a time you felt cheated?

Oooops

Oooops. Looks like I turned the heater off prematurely.

I seem to make a habit of it.

Maybe because I was born prematurely.

I don’t finish novels either.

or most short stories.

Even half my poems I bail out from.

Relationships too.

I have meltdowns. Walkouts.

But hey ! I have three kids.

Nothing premature there.

And I’m still with my gal.

Maybe I can finally say, I’m over it.

But that might be a little premature.

Iron Man at the Gym

 

 

Iron Man isn’t up to it today.

You can tell by the way he slopes around

in his baggy shorts and tee

dazed like he’s been smoking weed.

He dawdles a lot between reps.

Guzzles the urine coloured liquid to replace the energy he hasn’t used.

Plays with the machines like a cat with a mouse.

Jabbers at Stella how she isn’t doing it right,

to anyone really with a loose ear.

Truly he is more motor-mouth than Iron Man.

Where They Speak Crow

I don’t speak Chinese.

Nor do I speak Russian

though I do speak Latin

[three years at Uni]

though no one speaks it anymore

nor do I speak Crow

like those blokes at the gym

who ‘follow’ the Adelaide Crows footy team,

speak the arcana of the game,

the iconography of past champions,

the minutiae of every quarter,

pumping statistics rather than iron.

I’m on the outer of the inner circle

though I get far more gym done.

Does That Count?

You look like a man who could wear pink, she said,

handing me the mask along with the compliment.

I have never thought of myself as a man who could wear pink

but the dental assistant thought so too

though in her T-shirt and jeans and muscly arms festooned

with inky blue tatts of scaly winged dragons she wasn’t wearing

an iota of pink.

She looked indie, edgy like I wanted to look but I was the man

who wore pink.

I wore it all the way to the car park then bravely wore it

in the nearby shopping centre where Pink was playing

over the P.A system.

Was that a sign?

Then went home with it still on.

The next day I put on a blue mask but I did wear

my mauve short-sleeved shirt when I went out.

Does that count?

Taking Over

You’re taking over, she says.

Am I? I say. I didn’t know that.

You men are all the same, she says.

I go away and think about it.

Can one take over without even realizing it?

Did Alexander the Great conquer all those kingdoms without

even being aware of it?

Did Genghis Khan?

Did these warrior leaders perform their actions with sleight-of-hand

fooling even themselves?

Take over? Who? Me?

I talk to my therapist who is mightily amused at the very notion.

She said what? Who? You?

I take a good look in the mirror as I pass by.

Ummm. My tentacles do seem to have grown longer.

pic by pinterest. Andrei-Pervukhin on DeviantArt

Thursdays

It’s such a relief for me, Thursdays.

It’s the only day I don’t shave.

It’s my let-it-all-hang-out day.

My slob day.

I wash but don’t shave.

I wear casual, loose fitting, clean.

I eat that extra slice of cake.

I don’t do gym, exercise.

I may break into a walk now and then,

but that’s it.

It’s Thursday.

Sometimes I wish every day was Thursday

but I keep that thought in check.

Didn’t God rest one day a week?

Mine’s Thursday.

Is this even a poem or a bunch of thoughts?

On any other day it wouldn’t pass muster.

But it’s Thursday, remember?

*have you got a favorite day?

1 Minute Dash

No, I’m not buying new slippers just yet.

And no, I’m not getting my dressing gown out.

Nor my pyjamas.

Boxers will do.

And my cozy murder mysteries can snuggle against each other

on the bookshelf for another month.

So put that in your pipe and smoke it, Sherlock Holmes.

I’m riding Autumn out till Winter arrives.

Mingling with the Miniatures

I saw it advertised in the local rag.

‘Bonsai Show’, it said.

It was a tiny notice. I had to squint to read the details.

The hall was rather tiny.

I squeezed through the entrance almost knocking my head

against several light fittings on my way in.

It looked like a huddle of hobbits around the bonsai which

were unusually tiny.

“They’re not fully grown yet,” a volunteer offered.

Like many of you, I felt like saying but bit my tongue.

The Club President gave a haiku-sized speech for which

we were all grateful.

I mingled for half an hour indulging in the small talk until

refreshments were served.

There were pies, pasties and muffins from the ovens of Lilliput.

“Would you like a short black?” the serving lady asked.

“Any chance of some wine ?” I said.

“Sorry,” she answered, “It’s in very short supply.”

I had had about enough of pint-sized jokes,

and headed out into the big, wide world.

*pic by backyard boss on pinterest