Best Bologna Poems
On many long, drawn out nights, his routine was to
shuffle aimlessly along dimly lit city streets.
Much of the time, his only companion was a
concealed remnant of cheap bottled wine. He
scavenged for food and money. He would walk
enveloped in deep, weighty shadows and
halo laden street lights. Solitary. Lonely.
Emptiness that few people feel or know.
The raw hollow of an alcoholics tightly
drawn stomach. A gnawing pain that craves
food but will only be quelled when he gets
enough cash for another pint of cheap wine or gin.
Where to spend the night? Maybe with
some of them under the 10th st. bridge.
They may have some money there, or a
blanket to share. Might rummage garbage
containers at the restaurants on the way.
Could walk the parking lot at the grocery store.
There's always change lying on the asphalt.
Could act like he passed out on a city
bench. The police take you to the Detox
Center then. He hated that. Have to stay
72 hours. Guts ache, skin crawls. They
feed you well, but there is always
that craving.
Just keep walking. Frail, vaguely awaren
of hissurroundings as he treks in shadow
andsepia. On 10th, the street lights are so
damned bright they hurt his eyes.
What's that at the bus stop bench
in a brown paper sack?
Two loaves of bread, two wrappers of
bologna, and a luxurious bottle of Gallo
wine tucked in the sack. My God.
Providence at a city bus stop.
Someone boarded the bus and left
their supper. Probably headed for the
homeless shelter overnight.
White bread and meat for one hunger.
Cheap wine for the other.
There might even be some food to share.
Miracle on 10th St.
Daddy was… I don’t even remember but he wasn’t there
I don’t even remember why you were so angry
I got back home that night and my dog was lying in front of the garage
AT NIGHT in front of the garage!
I dial the keypad to get in the house but the door was locked and you took the key from its place so I couldn’t get in
I rang the doorbell
Knocked on the door
Rang the doorbell
Knocked on the door
But I didn’t make a scene
I carried my dog to the door on the fence, climbed over the fence, let my dog in and looked through the sliding glass door
You were asleep
I’m very happy for everybody that the sliding glass door wasn’t locked
I get inside and noticed you were passed out drunk!
The Grey Goose revealed it all
I kissed my dog goodnight, gave him a treat and BOUNCED
With YOUR keys and YOUR car
I’m so fed up I’m just SO fed up
The Bible says honor thy mother and father it doesn’t mention son and daughter
BOLOGNA if you ask me
NO child begged to be a part of this planet!
What does honor mean anyway?
Webster says merited respect… okay so maybe it’s not bologna!
I canNOT stop replaying my past
You are still here!
You are from the past!
I have let go but when you dig it up and throw it in my face
I pick it back up!
I try to be strong
I really do and EVERYONE notices I’ve made great improvements
You’re one of the people who’s praised me!
I’ve been having these occasional fluttering sensations in my heart for the past few years that I’ve mentioned to you recently
I still haven’t gone to the doctor
Neither of us will forget that time I was crying on the phone to Linnel about the two guys raping my semiconscious body and you busted in my room and said, “I hope your p____ fall’s off”
I can’t forget that time I confided in you about an unusual discharge and you said, “I’m just gonna let you suffer…”
Thanks for eventually taking me to go get tested but why did you have to say that?
I felt bad enough
Very true, Mom, I don’t have any friends…
I’m not even sure if I’m in excellent health and that I’ll make it many more years
Still, while I’m here
I just want to be able to help my people… somehow
Kindergarten Teacher
Kind when she shares her bologna sandwich.
Imaginative when she has to use Q-tips to teach.
Nurturing to teeter totter injuries.
Daring when rescuing an mystery object from the toilet.
Earnest when explaining this adventure to her principal.
Responsible for helping 23 children put on 23 coats and getting all 23
to the bus on time.
Gentle when covering boo-boos with impossible to open bandaids.
Aimiable when greeting parents.
Resourceful when finding uses for 75 popsicle sticks.
Tactful when explaining Timothy's new permanent marker freckles to
his mother.
Energetic when chasing a dog off the playground.
Nose blowing expert.
Talented when using a pipe cleaner to replace a lost shoe lace.
Elated with a new set of blocks.
Afraid of itchy heads.
Capable of jumping rope in heels on the playground.
High spirited when there is a snow day.
Excited about caterpillars.
Ready for nap time!
Six Unfinished Lunch Bags
(A collaborative confessional-witness lyric by Anne Winter and Daniel Henry Rodgers)
The memories of my childhood linger long,
With imaginary friends, my strong bond.
Echoes of loud and clear domestic violence,
Grief, tears, sorrow and unbearable silence.
Six years old—
six wax bags lined across the black-and-white table,
Sweet Lebanon bologna sandwiches
spread with Kraft mayonnaise.
My hands stayed pinned behind me—habit—
he reeked of beer; the metal post blessed my skull —
everything went dark.
When I woke, the basement joists
hung over me, unchanged.
Cold concrete floor.
The scar on my knee —
first thing I saw.
I cried, then finished the lunches
chips wrapped into waxed paper.
I should have died—
Why not.
No closet, no corner—only the table and all six bags.
Tomorrow, I journey into the lost woods—
blue-black comics tucked under my arm,
the only safe place my hands didn’t shake.
Flashbacks of alienation in some crowd,
Achievements accolade-worthy, no one to be proud.
Razed rage, lurking loneliness seeping stress,
Here I confess, my childhood one chaotic mess.
Adolescent to adulthood soaked in existential crises and
Decades spent begging for love and screaming with my favorite band.
O life, O dear life, what do you have for me?
If you don't care then please set me free.
Help me escape back to the lost wood.
Six unfinished lunch bags.
My husband looks tough, and I am sure he could be if he wanted to be.
But he is such a nice guy, I cannot imagine him ever thinking this was okay.
We have been together for over fifty years, which is plain to see.
Each minute a gift, each day a fresh start with a bit of laughter and play.
My husband is a helper. His business is all service, and he does all he can do,
Helps other people with computer systems he designs that are custom made.
Children know that he will do whatever he can to turn the world red and blue,
So do our grandchildren, for his loyalty doth not ever fade.
My husband is a drummer. There are drum sets here, most sublime.
He is a dog-lover, and he tolerates and feeds Shark, our snarky cat.
He can finish my sentences, as I can finish his, and does all the time.
Our pup, Sophie Helen, full of bologna always knows where he is at.
My husband would give you a house, his clothing, my clothing, and our car.
He is frankly an extremely generous, accepting, understanding soul.
That is his big heart showing you that he cares, which for him is just par.
Staying with him another fifty years or so is my ultimate life-long goal.
My biggest advocate, my patron, my cheerleader, my hero sublime.
Loves my paintings, and encourages me with black lights and words of love.
Adores my poems, reads each one, and asks if it is about him, each time.
This one is for him, my twin soul who was sent from heaven above.
Connie was a cheerleader
bright white toothed smile
bouncing boobs
short skirt legs running long
through school boy fantasies
friday nights her stage
crisp November air her makeup
Robert was a loner
a stoner
bad clear down to the core
shriveled up inside
Salvation Army furniture
Batman comics
bologna sandwich supper
Connie was manicured lawns
gardens of flowers
white picket fences and stone pathways
Norman Rockwell dinners
lavender bath soap
silk pajamas
pink bed spread
Robert was a rundown trailer
on a filthy back lot
goddamn you f*****g punk
get the hell out morning breakfast
garage sale coffee table
stacked with beer cans and ash trays
overflowing with death
Connie had a secret
hidden touches
fatherly lust
make up hiding
violent bruises
don't tell your mother
if you want her safe
I can hurt her too
Robert had a secret
18 hour days
two jobs at garages
straight A's
never give up
never give in
blue eyes and crooked smile
whispering to the world to kiss his ass
Connie was the sharp
razor's edge that gleamed
like the holy grail
in her bathroom drawer
Robert was the strong will
the hard desire
the drive to move on
to something more
Connie was a cheerleader
Robert was not a quarterback
but they were each other's
Salvation
Together, my parents faced two world wars, the great depression, floods, fires, and some things that would bring most people to their knees. Imagine just where I would be if they had just decided that things were too rough and chucked in the towel. At the time, I didn’t think they had a lot to give. But looking back, I’m amazed at how much I got.
steak’s what I wanted
bologna is what I got—
never went hungry
Fluffy slippers on my feet.
Warmth like this just can’t be beat.
Sitting with my dog, a summer treat.
I am enjoying a little sweet.
Today there is so little heat.
Rain up and down each lane and street.
Went to a store called Dollar Neat.
Got a little bologna meat.
Not so hard to ignore my sister’s tweet.
She wanted for us to arrange a meet.
I told her that although she is elite,
Sitting home with dog just can’t be beat!
She would never understand my well said bleat
Because a dog to her has never been sweet.
She claims a good doggy she will never meet.
She needs some fluffy slippers and a dog like Pete.
I AM A COUCH POTATO
By Roy Merritt
I am a couch potato, but not russet, red or white
I’m the kind of potato that sits up late at night
And I watch the TV shows the shows I really dig
And sit there in my chair and eat just like a pig
I eat hot dogs and burgers and sometimes even fries
And though we are related none of them ever cries
The only problem I see the problem with this place
Is how I might get more food to shove down in my face
And how I might get it to come right near to me
For its in my refrigerator some distance from me you see
And I know if it could hear me it would no doubt balk
If I dared to ask it to get up from there and walk
Bring me some bologna with mustard spread on bread
Bring me milk and cookies I need to be quickly fed
And get me lots of sodas the sweetest ones the best
The ones that keep you up you never need to rest
And please tell the potty I’ll need it really soon
I’ll no doubt need it morning, night, and noon
So don’t stay in the restroom come near to me as well
But stay far away enough so I can avoid the smell
A few feet should do it and I won’t much have to try
While I eat my pumpernickel and my chocolate apple pie
And no doubt my big belly will turn me into a grouch
As I sit here and eat content upon my couch
Yes I sit here eating sealing my certain doom
While I should be out and playing I’m in my living room
I should be out and running or playing with a bat
Instead of sitting here and getting really fat
So take a fool’s advice heed my greatest fear
For I know if I keep this up I won’t have many years
I’ll be like most potatoes then whenever they are found
I’ll be a couch potato buried beneath the ground
And should they dig me up I’ll be a terrible sight
And certainly something that would spoil your appetite
And certainly something that would spoil your appetite
Surely something to spoil your appetite
The streets are lined with golden arches,
Plastic smacking lips and smiling chef faces,
Hamburgers competing with pizzas,
Who are competing with Oriental take-outs,
Who are competing with Italian subs,
Who are competing with the world's longest dogs.
Oh Lordy, I'm singing the fast food blues.
Man, I have the shakes so bad,
My stomach is growling from hunger pangs,
The lines are long at Hamburger Haven,
No parking available at Zippy Zotto's Pizzas,
East Meets West doesn't open till 4:00 P.M.,
and Doxies is closed until further notice.
Oh Lordy, I'm singing the fast food blues.
The car is heading a different direction
To the other side of town,
My eyes are darting----giving me a wild-woman look,
Searching for that special place to fill my appetite,
I think of Mom's cooking circa pre-microwave,
Chicken with dumplings and cakes from scratch.
Oh, Lordy, I'm singing the fast food blues.
Time is wasting and my hunger is wanting,
Anything will do even a Bologna sandwich,
Piled high with lettuce, oozing with mustard,
Between processed cheese and rye bread,
A hotdog-on-a-stick will fill in a pinch
With a side of fries drowning in Ketchup.
Oh Lordy, I'm singing the fast food blues.
Driving along the interstate signs are larger,
I see a truck stop along the way,
Big Harry's for Big Appetites, Home Cooking,
My weak knees are knocking as I stumble through
The double-glass doors in time to see,
"Please wait to be seated----microwave oven in use."
Oh Lordy, I'm singing the fast food blues.
He was just a little wiener;
our precious little pup
and I was just a toddler,
when my breakfast, he did sup.
How he loved his burgers;
ham he loved, as much.
He could quickly murder
bologna, cheese and such.
I toddled along behind him
his tail, I held in brace.
He didn't mind my toddler whims,
when we were face-to-face.
He was just a little wiener;
a playful little friend.
He had the best demeanor
and we loved him, to the end.
Entered in contest: Dachshunds
Sponsored by: Rob Carmack
1-15-15
Sung to the tune "Only the Lonely" by Roy Orbison
Yum-Yum-Yum-Yumdy-doo-wah
Ooh-yay-yay-yay-yeah
Oh-oh-oh-oh-wah
Only the Bologna
Only the Bologna
Only Bologna (Yum-Yum-Yum-Yumdy-doo-wah)
Knows I don't need bread tonight (ooh-yay-yay-yay-yeah)
Only the Bologna (yum-yum-yum-yumdy-doo-wah)
A touch of mustard, seems so right (yum-yum-yum-yumdy-doo-wah)
Please hold the mayo
Please hold the cheese
I'm here at the table
and begging you please
It's Oscar
Meyer
For me
Only Bologna
Only Bologna
your bologna sub
it was insufficient food
i was starving loud
SANTA ON THE RUN
The night before Christmas, Santa was late
Packing up his sleigh would just have to wait
He had diarrhea bad
The worse case he ever had
Caused by the bologna sandwich he ate
Rudolph and friends were in such a tizzy
They knew Santa had been very busy
The elves packed up Santa's sleigh
Since Santa Claus had to stay
In the loo because he was quite dizzy
5/9/22
Let me change my toning
Skills mastered and others still honing
I am not droning
People to this day passed away from a stoning
Continually condoning
With no cease to cloning
It's become often and corroding
Occasionally exploding
All the while a struggle to break through the coding
Something worth noting
It's harmful not beneficial, yet constant doting
Still too much gloating
Evil agendas many have been secretly promoting
Originally got to the spot by boating
Then thrown overboard now saturated and soaking
The body would be floating
Due to bloating
But it was weighed down from others hoping
It'd never see the light of day, or an investigation probing
More or less
Cause and effect
Correct, I'm still pot smoking
Go ahead and ask me how my battle with alcohol is going
I start dozing
From overdosing
Little if any good that did like loafing
And postponing
As well as screens always loading
It's a joke, no I'm not joking
Still adding fuel to the fire with prodding and poking
Eventually leading to a struggle involved with choking
For one party the outcome was croaking
A process of life and death, living or decomposing
All this goading
And foreboding
Opportunity remains yet the door is closing
Either after it or just ogling
It's pathetic or engrossing
Having to do with an article of clothing
Or a sharp point dipped in a toxic coating
Meanwhile maniacal egos they're stroking
No I'm not joking
Like all the boasting
Is there such a thing as safety when danger is always approaching?
Treated like garbage it's gross to me
In the end it always benefits them mostly
Just the truth, not looking at it morosely
Homie
Pay attention closely
Instead of overlooking it all like it's bologna
Regardless of it being clear, rainy or snowing
The wind calm or harshly blowing
You're out of the loop or knowing
Impacting how waters are flowing
Endlessly on it's growing
Radioactive and glowing
Causing harm with no chance of slowing
This is what evidence has been showing
Whether or not it is the time of gloaming
To this day still roaming
It's worldwide not just in Wyoming
Like a rabid beast at the mouth foaming
Toward their desires always combing
With missiles that are homing