Five items in my shopping cart. Pull into
the line for fifteen items or less. One customer
ahead of me. Middle-aged woman with twenty items
arguing with the clerk. I have an appointment in half an hour.
“Lady, you have too many items!” If looks could kill, she’d be dead.
Caroline is an old clerk, Now she is out of work, She has no special perk, She wants to find the jark, So she goes to the park, It is very dense dark, She walks on the tree's bark, She hears the sound of snark, Finally she finds the secret mark, She also sees a lovely lark, It tries to shirk, Suddenly ,it catches by a spark, And it has become a chark , Alas! I am not a nark.
The bank clerk filed a complaint
Because her boss tried to acquaint
Himself with her boobs
Felt he had nothing to lose
So, she tied him up with restraint
Discounting the Cooked Clerk
Bah humbug humidity.
Cratchit’s counting on hot reality
with an unquenchable boss.
Air conditioner’s broke, but not.
Think Winter’s better? it ain’t.
Scrooged in Summer taint.
9/13/2021
D-awn early Thursday
H-as warmed the March second;
A-iming to thrill her heart,
L-ight comes from the beacon.
I-t's a beautiful morn, meeting the break of day;
A-llowing the dusk to fade, without a doubt, without delay.
N-otes, books, folders, and files
A-re the nature of her work;
Z-eal she has to do her task, a divine duty of being clerk.
I've shown my work to others
who rate it for themselves.
The feeble simply love it.
The intricate act like elves.
The wise man gets behind it
encouraging me to write.
It's only when the humble;
thank me that it's right.
My works in many countries.
Each nation reading from it.
Trading new ideas
when words to thoughts become it.
It has a narrow following.
Yet; larger than did once.
I wonder what is popular.
I wonder if I'm dunce.
I know I'm getting better.
I think I like my work.
I envy what I've written.
Like someone elses clerk.
the
old
clerk
accounts
for the unreal
but figures real
tired of permissive apathy
Once I tossed a smile when I didn’t think
I felt happy.
She caught it and
wrapped it in a song
and sent it back.
I found out I felt happy
after all.
Nothing is coincidence
and reasons might hide
sometimes for seconds
sometimes for eons.
No one has yet discovered how to measure
the half-life of hiddenness.
Knowing usually isn’t knowing
Usually it’s thinking
or believing
Same difference.
Used to be more bothersome
‘til I learned to
Smile.
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