Big Bad Recliner Chair Leader
It is a brisk seventeen degrees. Some are complaining
at the 40 mile-an-hour winds, dandy
Winter tornado in Saint Louie. I am in my
giant brown recliner, wearing doffers, and
My zip up stripped zebra suit pajamas with the ears,
eating chocolate candy.
Staying away from the phone which rings
incessantly with reverse mortgage offers.
Icicles dripping off the tree, glistening blowing snow
on the ground, bird feeders buried,
Ice on the driveway, which my slightly-used
dare-devil husband is itching to go out and master,
My traitorous hazel eyes roll with amusement,
remembering how last time he scurried
Back into the house, away from the frozen tundra,
a cheetah could not have been faster.
Sophie, our fat manager, an ebony cocker, with the
white star under her chin,
Is next to me, marathon farting,
out of every butt pore, cyber- ability to snore.
She is sitting next to me, pushing me out of our chair,
more hoggish than sister ever has been.
Second snow day in a row, worse blizzard
in Kansas City, the white fluffy-s simply did pour.
Out of the sky for ten hours at least, I watched in amazement
it gave me great peace.
I am looking out the window right now,
watching my cardinals take turns at the feeder.
There are three identical feeders,
but they fight over the one that faces the east.
I sit here in my zebra pajamas glory,
The big, bad recliner-chair-leader.
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