Blog Archives

Fathers’ Day In Quarantine

Ya know she smiles loud
Cuz she’s got all them teeth
But don’t take my word for it
I’m pretty far from beyond belief
All I truly know is better days coming week after next
I know this to be quite true
Cuz it says so in my daughter’s last text

Daughter conquers the days
With a lot more stress than I do
Pouring over hiragana squiggles
A looming test is messing with her artist’s do—
A perfect score in her Summer Japanese (!!!)
Brought my little brilliant girl
Down to her very studious knees!

Soon one far day she’ll marry
And support her brilliant kid’s studies
Skinned knees, broken arms,
Betrayal by once assumed close buddies.
And I’ll wish she finds all the joys
Such awesome women usually discover
Uncovering men buried inside hapless little boys

Tis quiet over on the cul-de-sac
‘Specially when I turn down my stereo
But it’s another Fathers’ Day
So turning Yes’ Starship Trouper to eleven, doncha know!
Singing along with the best dead rock stars
But what on Earth can we do—
We can’t go to restaurants, movies, or bars

An unassuming liquid red
Half fills this humble glass
Cabernet Sauvignon from over Sonoma way—
Wish I was sharing with my own sparkle-eyed lass.
But now time to rewash this mask:
Such varied fun in lockdown
Filled with this new time-worn vital task.

Yes please do come on over
To my wee cool place,
Always room in Alexandria
For one such as you and your happy pretty face!
We can play all the latest games,
Or uncover our darker tragedies,
Then smartly resolve them with neat effectual reframes!

Ya know he smiles loud
Cuz he’s got all them flossed teeth
But don’t take my word for it
I’m pretty far from beyond belief
All I truly know is better days coming week after another
I know this to be quite literally true
Cuz it says so in a text from my encouraging but distant brother

[PS Stay home, stay safe, practice the best proper social distance
Or may a gravid moose find relief in the spaces within your pants!]

Lacks Clarity

Cold front coming:
Get some blankets and extra socks.
Passed up on a life
With a sweet goldilocks.
So, I’m back in my own
Questionable company—
Doing some laundry
While composting soliloquy.
I’m not in the photo,
Entered Seventh Grade.
Tossed from senior rec room,
Still ain’t yet made the grade.
It’s still all an illusion,
My calculus was all wrong.
Ennui neck and neck with nostalgia
With second thoughts coming on strong.
How can you leave the concert early?
The Force has left the room.
Remember when 6th grade H.W. Allen math
Was interrupted by a Keesler sonic boom?
But here come the rains
As the winds turn to flip North.
Who wants to meet in Ashland?
Its Train Day November 4th!
Cold front coming!
Morning’s temps will bite.
But forever will I be
Rooting for that Green and White!

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.

Skip Skipping

Time is skip slipping
As the rain comes misting down
I think I really like you
With you I can sing and clown
Time is a sore pouring
The wine is half gone
Dance we again across the floor
We spin and spin until half-passed dawn

Time stops stupid short
You skitter sweetly out the door
You seem positively unsure
If you’ll come this way anymore

Time comes to do laundry
Separate the lights from the sweats
But we’d danced so hand-in-glove—
Always seem to lose at these kind of bets

Time for my daily bread work
Cloths are all neatly pressed
On a misty kind of rainy morning
One must always look one’s best

Because when the time seems right and the Sun supershines
The world may yet crash down but you still must work the mines
Wanna dance?

Vinaigrette Sunset

the grass is cut,
the clippings all swept away,
as the sun whittles down
the end of this third April Sunday.
cat meows for dinner,
his feed dish piled up high;
as the laundry waits for folding—
the clothes at last are all dry.
what nonsense will the week bring?
will I continue being so alone?
as unanswered are my dreams
and dusty the bell inside an unrung phone.
see, the Moon rises
and Spring toddles on,
as a one-row Cajun accordion still calls
after all these long years gone.