We suspected as much before we saw their wedding cake
With the bride raising the groom in the air, our friend Lake
Lake laughed uncomfortably, being embarrassed a tiny bit.
I was kind of hoping that this guy would not go through with it.
But they got married, and she spun him around.
She was the bossiest woman he could have ever found.
We heard a bit later that Lake went underground.
I figured out where he was, but he made not a sound.
The bossiest kindergarten girls ended up in the same class in first grade.
I could not believe it, because we had three classes to choose from.
But here, they were directing, instructing, bossing, and arguing.
I could hardly do a lesson with their loud bossy ways.
I wondered how the first year teacher was coping.
Then I noticed she was wiggling with what might have been music.
Wearing ear plugs while I was in there?
I have to say I admired her for this.
This gave her thirty minutes of not hearing them.
I cannot imagine how she gets through the rest of the day though.
They are truly the bossiest three I have seen in almost thirty-years of teaching.
Trixie, who loves orange, is today clog-dancing.
Her ready exhibitions are becoming so frequent many
poets would be embarrassed
My poems are super confident, so I go along with my enthusisatic minion.
Trixie is thrilled with our stuff.
All prissy delightful, not wanting to edit anything.
Please let us not use "I and me, again," I beg her.
So overdone I tell her.
She laughs and stomps on my finger that was heading for the delete button.
Our top five themes are dragons, pirates, orange, Trixie and me.
A bit boring, I tell her. Let's try some new material.
Trixie gets angry and gets out her battle axes.
She leaves my dendrite alley in despicable shape, hanging in pieces.
She saturates the walls of my imagination with
Sexy, sassy, orange, and yellow. Sexy! Come on! I yell. She howls happiness.
I watch in fascination as she grabs the pen and does her damage.
The bossiest orangest most polka dotted craziest poetic muse ever.
I count on her energetic bossy attitude almost daily.
She was the cousin we feared
There were no consequences
She stayed with the grown ups
No one sent her away
All the other aunts and my own mother
Did not send her away
She was our spy,
Gloating in the knowledge
That her own
Overly-aggressive mother
Dared not try,
For she was afraid
Of her thirteen-year-old
Daughter
Luckily, the rest of us
Grandchildren
Had a much better
time without either of them
It was not until after we were grown
We learned the truth
Shocked that Aunt Z,
The bossiest of the bosses
The oldest in a family of twelve children
The one who was the expert in everything else
Dared not send her
bossy, mean-as-a-snake
child out of the grown-up
area, for she did not want
her siblings to know
who was the boss of her
His Highness met me at the door.
There was food in his bowl but he wanted more.
He could see the paw print picture below
so I was obviously trying to kill him, you know.
He owns the house, just so you're aware ,
and nothing's off limits, no couch or chair.
He's still a kitten, not full grown yet.
But he's sure the bossiest thing I've met.
When I sit down he snuggles like a bug
and I am , of course, his favourite rug.
This master/slave relationship that we've got
works for us because I love him a lot.
Red Ink marks the paper
Scores a line and gives a grade
In the bossiest of moments
Tells of corrections to be made
Red Ink warns of danger
As it sits there standing bold
Or a single word might hang there dripping
While your blood runs stinging cold
It then brings heat, inspires passion
Like the warming of a fire
Consuming mind and paper
While the temperature gets higher
The heart beats strong when red is shed
Upon the clean white page
And killer thoughts and deadly musings
Are free to run with rage
The pen is gripped, but so are you
And there's no turning back
No dos or don'ts, just anarchy
Red Ink's a maniac!
There's no control as you bare your soul
In spurts of truth and lies and pain
Seeping, oozing, gushing through
The nib, an open vein
--
When complete, though hardly neat
The job is done, I can't deny
For Red Ink has done its duty;
It strikes the heart and strikes the eye
(I choose to muse in pencil
Or in simple black or blue
But Red Ink has its purpose
Perhaps you see that too)