
Stranded.
I don’t want to be stranded
like Robinson Crusoe
on an island
of pain
with no rescue in sight
another weekend;
so, doc,
can you fill out
the prescription again
that one with real bite?
Stranded.
I don’t want to be stranded
like Robinson Crusoe
on an island
of pain
with no rescue in sight
another weekend;
so, doc,
can you fill out
the prescription again
that one with real bite?
You’ve just had two hours of chemo
and an injection of white blood cells.
And you’re jumping out of yr skin
Where’s the party ? you say.
Where’s the party?
But there’s no party.
There’s only the house meeting.
That will do, you say.
You can turn that into a party.
You prophesy
there’s a flood coming
so I make a run for it
dash inside
flip the lid —
there’s only a trickle.
You fickle !
I sleep in short sentences.
Hiding Place.
Was wondering where the cat snoozed sunny afternoons
when I turned the hose on some groggy –looking gardenias
in a cloistered corner of the yard
and found out
as a cat bounded out of the bushes into the clearing
as if she were scalded
But What If I ….
I don’t think I can run anymore.
What?
I run out of puff. I can walk fast though. Does that count?
But you’re a running joke. Can’t you push yourself?
But what if I damage my hamstring?
Then you’ll become a lame joke. Get it?
Hey, I’m the one supposed to be cracking the jokes here.
Then run, for god-sakes, run.
*pic courtesy of pinterest
Lady Bay
Molly and Tom are sipping G & T’s on the porch of their third room apartment overlooking the golf course.
“It is so peaceful here, “ Molly remarks.
The main road passes the links where cars pick up speed after leaving the confines of a 50 k zone but their roar is swallowed by the distance from the apartments and the vastness of the course.
Just then Tom’s eyes lift as he notices a vehicle driving over the green. It has just come off the road.
It slows down and stops. Two figures in dark blue uniform dash out.
“It looks like a police van,” Tom remarks. “What are they doing on the course?”
Just then three shots ring out. Then silence. There is a scuffle of some sort. Within a few minutes the van drives off.
Later at dinner Tom and Molly learn from their waiter that a king ‘roo had been hit by a SUV and wandered onto the course, broken and bloody, “scaring the bejesus out of the oldies”.
That it was the night before Halloween did not go unnoticed.
Siberia
We arrived late at night. That may have been the reason.
Or maybe our reputation preceded us.
Either way we ended up in Siberia, Room 313 , the furthest most room from the front desk, next to the storage area.
Adele, the desk clerk, wasn’t much help. In her effort to be genial, she often hit the wrong note.
Eventually, we got our keys and lugged our baggage down the long, long corridor, the shadows across the carpet hulking and ominous.
By the time we got to our room we were stuffed,
We stripped off and hopped beneath the covers of the king size bed.
That’s when I realized we had company.
The figure beside me shifted uneasily
I wake up suddenly
stunned and panicky
like a ‘roo caught in the headlights
of a big rig
an eighteen wheeler
tunneling thru the darkness.
My senses are all rinsed.
I leap out of bed
into the hysterical light of morning
pour myself a coffee
settle back into my little
skew whiff home.