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Bless Her

Bless me back to Ol’ Mississippi
Calling on the phone is Helen Tippie
She’s a nurse byootiful, suitable, and something exquisite
All her patients love her and can’t wait for that next visit;
But we be sending best hopes for that man of hers—
What’s going down is a sad bad curse;
With wishes and prayers that he gets all better
Cause he’s a lovely man, like an Irish setter.
And now let’s end this poem all quick and nifty
Gotta take this call from Helen Tippie—
“Whassup, madear?”


It’s “Sally Gossamer Wingstep”

Sally Gossamer Wingstep really kinda hates her name—
Why not Prudence or Eleanor?
Something with a little heft or fame?
“Sally” is so so simple, and just a bit syrupy
Like someone maybe alien or from part of Mississippi!

Sally Gossamer Wingstep loves her German cousin’s name—
Katja Bunche Starlight!
Now THAT sounds like someone of real fame.
“Sally” just slumps all over, like an overlarge butt,
Like someone pretty rustic from the environs of Connecticut.

Sally Gossamer Wingstep would like to know your name—
Alexander? Margaret? Lillian? Alphonse?
Changing hers might be part of the game.
For now she’s just “Sally,” sad but too true,
Now, if she can just get over this horrid flu!


The light is failing
As are my eyes;
Put away all those becauses
That came with you lies.
We’d wet the drain;
I’m not all that sure
I ever want to see you again.
The year is ending,
As is my sentence down here.
How far to the river’s bend
And all that southern good cheer?
Stay in Kalamazoo:
A reunion in Cyprimont
Is all I will need of you.
My glass is empty
Just like my heart;
Were we really all over
Right from the start?