Interrogatory
Apparent suicide,
Military intelligence.
Will I be so well regarded
When I achieve some past tense?
Foster a puppy?
Get it together,
Hang on you guys
We’re in for some nasty weather.
Spin some ‘Stones,
Maybe Moonlight Mile?
She’s gone to the theatre—
Can I hang with you awhile?
Or Doobies ‘White Sun;’
Does that make me a racist?
We’re just swaying to the groove;
Please put your PC into cease and desist.
Teachers in tights,
Boots above the knee.
It’s not the clothes, moron.
It’s the quality of the preceptor, see?
The A/C is back on,
The kid’s at St. Ed’s;
All that folded laundry
And, lately, unmade beds.
Waiting for your call,
Ringer turned up high.
Jack the cat stretches
And turns over with a sigh.
The only interrogative:
So, how did it go?
If I only knew,
I would let you know.
Posted on September 16, 2017, in Poem and tagged air conditioner, apparent suicide, at home Saturday night, cat, cellphone, cellphone ringer, clothes, Doobie Brothers, fostering animals, hurricane season, hurricanes, laundry, military intelligence, Moonlight Mile, oxymorons, preceptor, questions, racism, Rolling Stones, St. Edward's University, stretching animal, stupid dress codes, stupid rules, teacher, theatre, unmade bed, White Sun. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.