toilet seat cover of ruffly fluffy pink
she wore it on her head, my grandma Link
danced around the hallway, bragged about zinc
said, “this cover is as soft as a corn-fed mink!”
No one else in the old folk’s home gave a blink
even though she looked a tad rinky-dink
nurses said they were writing this in her chart in ink
I don’t care, she said, giving me a sassy saucy wink.
do you have a veggie burger?
The voice is small
I look down, and try not to explain
we are carnivores here, hearty meat eaters
We devour pounds and pounds of hamburger,
hot dogs, chicken wings, chicken breasts, chicken necks,
rib eyes, t-bones, any thing dead that does not move any more
did I mention we are carnivores?
I look at her eyes. They are scanning the grill hopefully.
We have salmon, I say, do you want me to run inside and get it?
I think I’ll have that veggie burger, she says, pointing to a patty.
It’s one hundred percent corn-fed beef.
I put it on a bun and hand it to her
not wanting to spoil her illusion
A former place this, a patch where roots rattle,
where stubble has a ferrous frizzle.
A long-truncated railroad stop
humming still with a faded reality.
As dry voices on the wind, they return
- the homesteaders and journeymen,
the harnessed horses.
Pants' cuffs carry kernels
long planted elsewhere.
Caps, coats, and carts
Sweat, rustle and creak,
an invisible locomotion of leaving and arrival.
employed upon an iron labor.
The tall dry weeds are talkative.
Brown boots seem to shuffle
as they wait here or idle.
A hollow clock clacks,
its innards now
are a nest for ticking birds.
Dandelions anticipate twirling flight
under a corn fed sun.
A mid-day heat thrums fragmented rails.
The station seems almost ready
to receive
as if its bygone world
had not forever disembarked.
here’s your plaque:
best in uniformity & public shaming.
no rooster crows without committee review.
no similes unless they match the mulch.
you scratch the dirt,
then vote on who gets corn-fed
when there's plenty to go around.
not every poem is a zoning dispute,
and I'm hard pressed to name anyone here
an expert in the field. get over yourselves.
she left.
what was the point of that?
you ran off a chance to learn something,
or worse,
ran off a chance to help a lonely person
in need, masquerading what they want to be.
we'll never know now.
all this for what?
the abject terror of an electron less
of validation? grow the f*ck up.
I see you,
paper-bagging praise like contraband,
while circling the coop,
searching for a beak to clip.
I'm going to bed now,
to dream of that first welcome
I had three years ago.
My sincerest hope
is that you'll meet me there.
she brings the joy of Jesus into a room
the atmosphere goes up in a mad zoom
her enthusiasm is natural and God-like
you can feel the others' blood pressures spike
She is not in competition with any other
A corn-fed Iowa girl with a Godly mother
From the Bible belt, which is a great place
She changes the mood, now sets the pace.
The conversations get more honest and true.
The others feel her Godly rainbow hue.
She glorifies the Father up above in a lovely way.
Restarting many an onlooker’s day.
You cannot take the country out of a corn-fed Iowa girl
You cannot pull the straw out of her teeth
You cannot take the “yahs” and replace them with “yeses”.
You can try to pull her off the tractor, but she will not come easy.
You can try to get her to stop eating fresh sweet corn
But I would not give you a nickel for your life afterwards.
More Texas Idioms
Miracle Man
November 9, 2023
Often my neighbor needs a little reproving,
“He’s always lying if his lips are moving”.
When he gives me news I consider the source,
this guy is “windier than a corn fed horse”
He doesn’t always like what I have to say
and quickly replies ”every dog has his day.”
Sometimes what I say induces his growls,
But I don’t worry, “a hit dog always howls.”
He’s been this way since he was half grown,
I once heard it said “he lies like a tombstone”.
He said I’m handier “Than hip pockets on a hog,”
and last year “His trees we’re bribing his dog”.
He’s such a liar “he’d beat you senseless,
and tell God you fell off a horse”
Shariah had turquoise hair and rouge so red.
Usually people like this are copse, they’re dead.
She must be fifty-years old a teenager said.
I rolled my eyes, at this young corn-fed.
Fifty is my daughter’s age.
She is actually fifty-one, on a yearly gauge.
So for him to say fifty as if it is a hundred and two.
Made me extra feisty, so I gave him the bottom of my shoe.
There's an eatery here in my hometown I'd heard about,
That features exotic wild animal fare so I thought I'd check it out!
I perused the menu and here are a few examples of its bizarre cuisine:
Slow-broiled and marinated Indian elephant spleen;
Delectable bar-be-qued Texas style rib of rattlesnake;
Tender sixteen-ounce portions of grilled hippopotamus steak;
Choice butterflied pork tender-loin from corn-fed por(k)cupine;
Wild Arkansas boars' feet boiled and pickled in spicy brine;
Fresh flown-in daily from Alaska, deep-fried buzzards' gizzards;
Finely sliced sauteed tongue of Komodo Dragon lizards!
I decided to order an enticing delicacy that really caught my eye;
'Twas a dish called Braised Himalayan Rabbit that I thought I'd try!
I asked the server about its origin and its preparation mode.
"First" said she, "we find him-a-layin' on the road!"
(At that I stifled a roiling barf and from there I quickly strode!)
Meat and potatoes and chicken will not do
Has to be beef and genuine Iowa-grown corn-fed too
Mashed potatoes not those flimsy flakes from a box
Gravy stirred by loving hands valuable as Fort Knox
Dessert can be cake if you cannot get Mom’s pie
If you can there’s nothing better under this old sky
Scalloped corn and twice baked loaded potatoes
With thick bubbly cheese sauce that freely flows
You are on a diet? This is really no problem at all.
There is a always a leftover pile of carrots left in the hall
Sometimes a new relative brings a piece of lettuce too
I will eat the good stuff leaving rabbit food for you
It's 3 a.m. The universal witching hour, so of course, I'm wide awake.
The snarly opossums are on the porch, fighting over a delicious corn-fed steak.
Sophie Dog is on the back of the couch, growling at an unseen spirit.
Heavy cigarette smoke smell assaults my nose, proof my father is near it.
He has been gone since '84, but at 3 a.m. this does not matter.
Mother-in-law throws a blue dish in the kitchen, an ominous clatter.
"I know you are here," I haughtily remind them. yet with a bit of force.
"No reason to throw dishes or blow smoke, go back to your heavenly source."
A quick glimpse out of the corner of my eye, a smile reminiscent of Lee.
Time to go back to bed and astral travel with my ancestors around me.
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