Happy Valentine’s Day Faye

So at the Gates stood Conor
Awaiting his newest best friend.
Faye joined him eager yet sore confused,
This was no one’s idea of a good end

She’ll never be seven
She plays now in Heaven
And our tears yields no answers
To the never answered Oh God, Why?

Why did that thirty-something
Lose contact with his humanity?
Just playing outside in her front yard
These things are always so damn hard

Are we all so willfully and totally blind?
Is this some new flavor of miswrought insanity?
Our ocean awash in pain and despair—
There’s no satisfying answer, ever, anywhere.

Bad parenting, bullying, party drugs?
A chromosome split and expressed wrong?
Just why can’t this stop, just…please…stop!
Do we just let this go and let Pain chase erelong?

Faye and Conor skip off into the sunset,
We here, head in hands, perplexed and twisted.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Faye, and to you who still love;
While our tears coalesce with a countenance sorely misted.

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When A Cat Goes To Heaven

When a cat goes to Heaven
He can chase all the mice around
But he quickly finds they’re fast friends
Enjoying cheese and tuna by the pound

When a cat goes to Heaven
He gets his 9 lives back
Such a celebration 9 times a year
For nothing will he ever lack

When a cat goes to Heaven
Furballs are a thing of the past
And oh please about those fleas
To a different place are they all cast

When a cat goes to Heaven
He watches over his owner every day
And when his friend comes to his or her end
Your cat will show you the most heavenly places to run and play

Etiquette Fail

And so the time has come to go.
Thanks for your time and the Music and the Love;
Wisht I’d better acquitted myself,
And had earned a place up there high above.

But I’s just another fat American
With no one else better to blame;
Like Journalism on the Progressive bias—
All part of the same tired game.

But what are these chest pains:
Signal push-ups or Pearly Gates?
Gotta go to work tomorrow
With a boss who blithely hates.

So, have another glass of merlot—
Twas an unassuming vintage.
But I’ll miss you ever the most:
Thou of sterling mintage.

But it hurts a bit right here,
Around about where my broken heart lies.
Bury me next to Momma or scatter me in Sandbridge;
Try not to mind those nipping sand flies.

But you better not fail me:
You best try to find the Real;
Don’t lie, don’t drug, don’t cheat,
And never, ever lower yourself to steal.

Now, it’s past time to leave.
[Never got that part right]
Adios muchachos,
Bon soir, and good night.