A Short Venomous Tale

A Short Venomous Tale

It is the venomous time of evening.

Sun setting. Close and muggy.

Her eyes dart around like mosquitos.

zeroing in on the small group at the edge of the pool

sipping G & T’s.

She settles on her prey, the malicious Minerva.

Punctures her composure, draws blood.

She will not be swatted.

She is feeling positively encephalitic.

*pic courtesy of pinterest

Better

You apologize to the cat

the turtle in the tank

the goldfish in its bowl

and yr other half

in her room.

What got into you?

You’re not an IED

primed to go off

at the least provocation.

You coulda done better, mate.

You coulda done better.

A Little More

A Little More

I think it’s okay to want a little more.

A little more love.

A little more applause.

That second glass of red.

Another night in paradise with you.

We were not built for abstemiousness.

We have gullets, appetites.

It does not mean excess.

A modicum of more will do.

Guillotine

Guillotine.

Who devised you?

You look so cute

so placid

so trustworthy

warm wooden seat

on the toilet rim

but when I lift you up

to pee

you don’t stay up

like other toilet seats

but drop down

heavily

like something medieval

a guillotine

ouch !

Blowing Rainbows

Blowing Rainbows

Maybe if I was a little less lethargic

I could turn to things pelagic

and swim in the open sea

my arms and my legs

could become fin-amajegs

and I could blow rainbows

through my nasal cavity

*pic courtesy of Pinterest

Reminiscing Rainbows

Reminiscing Rainbows

We were reminiscing rainbows at the writers’ workshop when the mentor

snapped: Get out of the picture. You’re spoiling the view. Let the vision

remain. So I did. I got out and wrote this:

A bright rainbow

scythes

the air:

a gentle crop

of rain

Peek

Peek

The last thing I do at night

before hitting the sack

is taking a peek,

and the first thing I do in the morning

after getting up

is to sneak another peek.;

the laptop is left on

so I can see at a glance

how many comments I’ve collected

since I last looked;

sometimes I go away with a full tummy,

other times I leave anxious,

afraid I failed to hit the mark,

the old lead balloon syndrome.

I know it’s unhealthy,

it’s not all about numbers

but it’s the performer in me—

you like to hear the applause,

& read the critics in the morning

• pic courtesy of pinterest

The Bossy Bossy Poem

 

 You bouff your way
 
onto the page
 
while I’m working
 
on something else
 
like the cat
 
that barges through
 
the front door
 
while you try to squeeze through
 
with yr bag of groceries

The Catastrophist

You better watch yourself.
 
You’re becoming a catastrophist.
 
That bbq pack in the backseat, for instance,
is not going to wreck the suspension.
Cars were designed to carry weight.
 
And , no, no one’s going to break in and steal it
when you duck in for a coffee and cake.
 
And as for that brandy and dry offered just before dinner
it’s not going to play havoc with your digestive system
if you have it before your standard glass of red.
 
It’s a cold day. Loosen up for f*&&^% ‘s sake.
You’re driving everyone batty.

*pic courtesy of pinterest

The Umbrella Song

I love to sing a capella

In the rain ‘neath my umbrella

To dance like Gene Kelly did

In the puddles like a kid

I like to make a lot of noise

I love the sound of my own voice

And I’m as rich as Rockefeller

in the rain ‘neath my umbrella.