they are yours
and mines;
the hard-boiled
cookery of virtuous noise.
a polyphony wrapped
in aluminum foil
on a tedious shelf
w/bits of mythic statuary,
petite reliquary
of gastronomic demise,
and jars of jazz
sit motionless,
mummified
in gifted dishes.
they are the cool
epistemologies
that gel I the mixing bowl of life
that sudden slap
in the face of time
and the subsequent freeze.
my favorite color is tangerine orange, glowing like the sun
reminding me of twilight, orange juice, and Nikes on the run
Wait! Stop! Maybe my favorite is green, for it reminds me of trees
Oaks, maples, and hickory, blowing gently in the breeze.
I can only pick one? Well, silver now comes to mind.
I like aluminum foil, sparkly wands, and faeries so kind.
Who could not choose pink? It is my favorite shade of red.
It might be my favorite. No, I choose yellow instead.
Yellow is the sun, the moon, the stars, and Rainbow Brite’s hair.
To ask me to choose only one favorite color is surely not fair.
Purple is so lovely, lavender, gold, turquoise, and royal blue.
I cannot choose one color, it is something I really can’t do.
Lotta would look cute in a box of crackers, his grandmother said.
She would look sassy in a roll of aluminum foil, said Uncle Ned.
Lotta’s assignment at school was to fashion a dress from the kitchen.
Unique, made of items that are usually discarded, her mother was ’n.
They were talking about the girl who dated their grandson Grips.
She ended up wearing a dress made of bags of potato chips.
Grandma had helped her design it, and frankly she looked rather cool.
This dress took the top prize that was given for this category in school.
Cooking with garlic and oil
Chopping peppers and chives
Crinkling aluminum foil
Running water over dirtied knives
Cutting boards strawberry stained
Slicing apples and poaching pears
Steamy facials from pasta drained
Sizzling pops like lightning flares
Piping a French buttercream rosette
Cracking eggs with no loose shell
Waiting for lime jello to set
But nothing beats the most delicious smell
The scent of vanilla
they were reading our minds, grandma
who? she asked, concerned
the aliens!
The ones from planet X474Z!
She knew they were having fun with their Uncle Larry.
He had a knack for making life fun.
She remembered when she asked him to watch his sister's children.
Now here he was, sitting around in an aluminum foil hat.
Not Planet X474Z! Grandma yelled.
She ran off screaming.
Delighting her grandchildren.
Completing their perfect day.
i can smell her chocolate and peanut butter as i enter the grocery store
do you smell that?
sweet salty Reeses peanut butter cups
i envision myself unwrapping her aluminum foil
bite sized?
heck no!
best Halloween was in 1962
I was a fairy with silver tinseled wings
felt angelic in virginal white shiny gown
aluminum foil wand looked fancy
I felt pretty maybe for the first time
be a lady my mother said
but two boys tried to take my candy basket
I clunked them both over the head with it
mothers called my mother
I dreaded hearing the phone ring
thought I was in trouble
proud you stood up for yourself Mom said
Being a dragon hoarder is now work at all
I collect tidbits of aluminum foil, rolled and tall
I have boxes and bags full of things from the mall
Items also I have found in a bathroom stall
Being a dragon hoarder is what I do best.
I bring stuff home, and plunk it down in my nest.
I collect wings, feathers, animals, especially little mice.
Who grow up and reproduce, so isn’t that nice?
Back in the day we had a maypole on May Day
We created May baskets out of doilies and construction paper
I loved adding bits of ribbon, aluminum foil and glitter.
We decorated them like Valentines boxes.
Filled them with tiny candies popcorn and violets.
It was fantastically fabulous, and I loved it!
Why did I have maypoles and May baskets?
Was it because I lived in a small town? Was it because of my mother?
Was it because we knew all of our neighbors back in the day?
Thank you for tender flesh so sweet
Uniquely known for your dark meat
Risen to fame as a rare treat
Known as sticks that are fun to eat
Each person asks for a repeat
Year after year, you face defeat
Lovingly fried in hot peanut oil
Eaten quickly before you spoil
Gobs of grease on aluminum foil
Save us from high cholesterol.
My Covid hat had a mask on the side.
A mask in the front, a mask in the back.
Each mask had a message. Something sassy.
Something that said Goodbye 2020.
Something to say glad you’ve died 2020.
My Covid hat had a syringe on the top.
It was loaded with vaccine and a tiny tear drop.
The tear drop for Cindy, Harry, Elk Boy and Bean.
Four friends I used to have, who will no longer be seen.
I have aluminum foil rabbit ears on the top and side.
It has a bit of fur, and a headstone for my neighbor Clyde.
My Covid hat has a video of six or eight missed games.
And another video of a child who calls all his friends names.
They do not know, for they have not seen him in weeks.
This Covid hat is smirking at me. It has a smell that reeks.
A smell of death, medicine, wet contagious droplets in the air.
I wear it proudly, but go nowhere, so no one doth care.
My canvas calls for blue today.
A light delicate pretty blue, not the ugly mean ones.
I mix the one I want, a sky blue on an October day.
When it dries I stare at where grass might be.
Usually reaching for green, I feel my hands reaching for gold.
Chunky, happy, dazzling, layer upon layer of glitzy and gritty gold.
It is the beach, I tell myself! The beach gives me a happy grin.
I stare into the woods for a bit, figuring out my next move.
We need squiggles, the sky suggests. Silver squiggles,
Three-dimensional, sparkly dazzling happy silver squiggles!
Silver and gold, silver and gold. I find myself singing.
It is shining up nicely, like a tiara, aluminum foil, rhinestones.
Joy resonates from the canvas now. I have never been more pleased.
This one is a keeper I announce.
My man rolls his eyes as I add it to my stack of a hundred canvases.
What else can I do? We cannot get any more paintings on the walls.
And Velcro is not keeping them on the ceiling.
Besides, this one is my new favorite!
Pet Rocks And More
(rocks don’t snore)
Pet rocks must be kept refrigerated
Wrapped in aluminum foil for protection
Visitors mistake them for dinner rolls
Butter them up at midnight in the dark
Return them because they are too hard
Pet rocks don’t like strangers
They do not play well with others
Or move around late at night in the dark
Like sneaky thieving visitors do
Pet rocks have no feet to proceed
Are not snacks for those who do
People who lack manners are cruel
Rocks are bad for the digestion
Like Pluto, pet rocks don’t care
If you think of them as planets or stones
Home is were they are and where they land
No matter where you throw them
Place them in a microwave or fridge
Some pets need some maintenance
Rocks need none
Think of them as friends without a bite
In hard times they will never leave you
Love your rocks as best you can
Don’t butter them or eat them
You will need new teeth
To see a dentist you will need a car
Playing frees the mind up, and lets it scatter in the wind,
Zooming onto pirate ships, enjoying every single spin.
Playing keeps the heart young, with aluminum foil hats.
Painting, dancing, leaping, skipping, enjoying baby cats.
When work is a pain, pulling you down, making you sad.
It is time to get over this, and feel some intense glad.
If there is a better way than playing to free up your mind,
I have to admit to you, this magical beast is something I never did find.
Playing is the way we communicate with our friends.
Keeping creativity alive, in our brain, letting in possibility bends.
Imagination smiles upon us with love when we play.
There is simply no better way to enjoy our regular day.
Why do we have two days off work to meet with our friends?
Can you imagine the suffering if perpetual work never ends?
Playing gives us pure excited fresh soul happiness, keeps us enthused.
If we did not have playing, we would all be singing the blues.
I take another bite of sweet pumpkin pie
Wondering why I deprive myself of her company
Most of the year, only allowing her to grace my mouth
on Thanksgiving week.
You can take the rest of it home, our host offers.
Seeing how totally enamored I am with her.
I put aluminum foil lovingly around her top
Begrudging my four-year-old cousin’s plea
“I want to taste pumpkin.”
He does not like it, of course,
so his unthinking mother throws it away.
I dig it out of the trash seconds later.
Tiny bite marks will not stop me from
devouring this piece in my dorm room.
Grandma gives me a thumbs up
as I leave to go back to college.
Next year I will make another one
just for you, she says.
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