Dibs Poems

On the 4th of July

Today, they’ll fire up the grill
For burgers, hot dogs, ribs 
And hungry guests will gather ‘round
To point and claim first dibs.

I will not be among them,
Though I’ll not be too forlorn;
My husband mashed potatoes 
And made chicken and some corn.

At night there will be fireworks 
But we will not attend.
We’ll watch a Netflix series
Where we’re almost at the end.

We might hear firecrackers boom
When we are close to sleep. 
I’ll think of Independence Day
And hope we’ll somehow keep

The promises the founding fathers
Set in ink back then,
But fear those words will not be honored,
In our lives, again.

Old Man is Steamed

The old man is steamed with a pot on his head
Ice tea has no dibs on this tea cozy aptly fed.
We don’t know his name, thinks his dog calls him Fred.
Don’t get close to the steam, it will burn your hand red.

Weird Wood

Some people don’t hike through the wood,
especially on All Hallows Eve.
Ghosts of boys and girls of good
float at the campfire, if you believe.

Elves and pixies dance through the trees, 
with taunting, mocking, and leering.
They swing and sway in the brash breeze,
their faces frighteningly jeering.

What was that? The crack in the wind
unleashes demons and banshees!
Their hideous yowling will send
even the bravest to their knees.

Ghosts and goblins arise from their graves,
harmonize in a cacophonous chant. 
Don’t try to hide in the darkened caves.
They’ll find you in their raucous rant.

They’ll steal your bones with giggling glee
and make toothpicks with your ribs. 
Quickly now, turn. Run, and flee
before they find you and call out “Dibs!”

Shadows Calling A

Leaking through the worn, gray boards, like a trickle from a dream. Where gentle thoughts raised prayers through the loft, tiers spilled out tears, remembering the quiet moments before. Yesterday, when the silence was broken by gentle moos and squealing pigs, squawking hens beating away the cats from her nibbling brood of dibs. Remembering the truth of a summer quivering, the trembling of rain falling on a tin roof, lulling away the afternoon beneath the tender song, breathless as daybreak and just as whimsical.

It was here, beyond the barn’s yawning doors, that my heart learned to appreciate the simple things. The still, cool pulse of twilight, the discreet brush of hope – soundless as light, pouring out over the soul who knows that God’s breath flows in through those moments, those charming moments, when the heart hears only the sound of His music, softly echoing through the beautiful.

Youngest

As the oldest child, I got to choose
Before my other sibs.
From where to sit or what to do,
I was awarded dibs.

The fact of being older meant
I had a certain clout
That might have caused resentment
But was always straightened out.

My younger grandchild, though, believes
Her status holds the keys
To open every door she can
Which “youngest” guarantees.

She doesn’t think it’s fair the order
Of her brother’s birth
Allows him any privileges,
But then, for what it’s worth,

If “oldest” has no value,
“Youngest” has to be the same.
Too bad there is no middle child
Around to fan the flame.

Metrophobia

Is liking someone so uncommon
or wanting someone, a new phenomenon?

Are you an April - wreaking the milieu to discourage me?
Is that why you disparage him to such a degree?

He’s heartful and sincerious,
he’s slammin’ hot but oblivious.
He’s music, lust and fun,
all rolled into one.

So, I’m calling you off,
stop blowing up my phone.
You might as well not bother,
We’ve got dibs on each other.

What’s really good?
He’s really good.
.
slang:
April = a manipulator of well thought out tricks and evil plans
wreaking =causing harm
milieu = the environment
heartful = honest and sincere
sincerious = sincere and serious
slammin’ = very, very f*ckable
dibs = a claim

Garden Apartment Redemption

I solemnly received my first toilet auger
As if it were a knight’s well-tempered sword.
It meant I’d passed my ninety-day audition,
And seemed to me a suitable reward.

And so began my tenure working maintenance 
In the nasty nitty gritty of a toxic circumstance. 
But I’d scored a small apartment, living duty-free,
So, it was time for starting over’s second chance. 

A thousand plus apartments needed tending.
When a work ticket printed, I called dibs.
Seventy buildings built of brick and dreams.
I was privy to the skivvy in all those skeevy cribs.

I’ve encountered many silent tribal totems:
Hindu murti, Christian chi rho, Muslim script.
But no matter the religion of the trouble call,
For every useful purpose, I came suitably equipped.

There were feral cats, roaches, and bedbugs 
Infesting hoarders’ floorspace wall-to-wall.
I dealt as best I could with the detritus,
But my biggest stress was over-night on-call.

While paying the price of complete independence
I may sometimes have hammered my thumb.
Though I may be a hack in the handyman trade, 
I conducted my final campaign as my army of one.
And I came off a winner.

Furry Rider

I'm cruising, watching cars go by
 Speeding down the highway, such a treat
 Wind on my fur, I feel I can fly,
 I've got dibs on the window seat

 Speeding down the highway, such a treat
 I'm a dog who loves a car ride!
 I've got dibs on the window seat
 I see my pitbull pal, her eyes open wide


I'm a dog who loves a car ride!
I'm filled with glee, loving the scene
 I see my pitbull pal, her eyes open wide
I'm a canine with a gangsta lean

 I'm filled with glee, loving the scene
 Wind on my fur, I feel I can fly
 I'm a canine with a gangsta lean
 I'm cruising, watching cars go by

 5-17-2020
 Photo 2

A Thank You Note Is All We Need

A thank you note.
It’s all we need.
It never came.
An awful deed.

It would not be fair
To punish the sibs
For one small mistake
By a fellow dibs.

A thank you note
It’s all we need.
It never came
An awful deed.

Texting Is Totally Tedious

What about Monday?
Not this week?
Tuesday and Wednesday might work.
Tuesday at 4, but you have to be back by 4:30.

Sure. Shopping always takes me less than 30 minutes
Not counting drive time.
Thursday? No. She has track.
What about Jeremiah? He cannot be first. 

Oh, yes, we promised her first dibs.
What about today? I text back. “This afternoon.”
“I will get right back to you,” she says.
Text is so much more irritating than a simple phone call.

The Iselin Fair

When we were young we went to the fair 
With our brothers and our sisters 
We tilted on the Tilt-a-Whirl 
And we twisted on the Twisters
 
We bulleted on the Bullet 
And quite dizzy we would feel 
But my stomach always turned and turned 
When I rode that Ferris Wheel
 
We'd go to get some eats 
Some pizza or spare ribs 
They were always so darn good
 We'd go back for second dibs
 
Candy apples with coconut 
Were always fun to eat 
And so was cotton candy
But they both were very sweet
 
We played the fifty-fifty
And we raffled for the car 
We drank beer under the tents 
And we ate clams at the bar
 
The spinning wheels were fun to play
But they were hard to win 
Victor the bear was tough to wrestle 
But someone beat him with a pin
 
Monsignor Wilus ran the show 
And he was usually there 
So thanks to him He brought us all 
The good ole Iselin fair

Mobile

Among the crafty things I own
A mobile's one I love,
Suspended from the ceiling,
Gently twirling from above.

A moon and stag are up above, 
Three pine trees hang below,
With stars, a heart, plus creatures
Of a type I do not know.

Their movement's imperceptible
At times, but with a breeze,
They rotate in a manner which
Has never failed to please.

For mobiles shouldn't be confined
To galleries or cribs.
When this one caught my eye, I knew
That I would have first dibs.

And every time I catch it shift
I smile at its design,
Delighted that I made my move
To make that mobile mine.

Yellowjackets

I piled my plate with ribs,
Potato salad and pulled pork,
Then grabbed a beer, a napkin
And my plastic knife and fork.

The picnic table beckoned
So we sat to have our meal,
Not knowing that our dinner
Would turn into an ordeal.

For out of nowhere there appeared
A yellowjacket pair,
Alighting on my plate, my food,
My beer, my hand, my hair.

Perhaps it was the honey
In the saucy-coated ribs
That attracted these invaders
Out to claim their rightful dibs.

I swatted and deflected them
But I could clearly see
That a peaceful, laid-back barbecue
This wasn't meant to bee!

Flower Girl

I saw you from across the bar,
Your eye shadow immaculate,
Your skin a pleasing, pale hue,
Your brown hair laced around a band of plastic flowers,
Your supple red lips engaged in fluid conversation.

I saw you, decided I loved you,
My bawdy, lusty companions thought so as well,
We cast dibs and lots for you and dared each other to speak to you,
And acquire your phone number,
As if you could be owned by possession of such things.

I turned away from our idle chatter and barter,
And glanced to where you spoke with the girl presumed to be your sister.
I may not love you tomorrow, 
The feeling may have faded by then,
But I relish the aesthetic of the moment,
Lovely Flower-Girl.

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