Saw a friend for lunch; we meet
To talk of health and aging.
A cozy booth; we schmooze and eat,
Our changes up for gauging.
The negatives of age contrast
With pics of a vacation
So beautiful that they surpassed
Our senior state fixation.
Until at last, we split the bill,
The credit cards extended.
We signed our names and knew the drill;
Our lovely meal had ended.
I folded my receipt in two
And in the bag I carry,
I stuffed it, like I always do,
So very ordinary.
We said goodbye and headed out,
Where home for us both beckoned.
About the check, I had a doubt;
I’ll look at home, I reckoned.
An hour later, no receipt
Appeared, despite my searching.
I sadly must admit defeat,
A getting old besmirching.
I'm a fairly contented hound.
What I seek is not profound.
As long as I have a snout to sniff,
that certain something to take a whiff,
and a tail to briskly wag,
my life's in the bag.
He happy buty he mad too! I told him i'd be faithful.
He don't want me out their with ya'll cause most time ya'll act like ya'll don't
like him. He said "that ole fool be rubbinbg Vick all over
your body so ya;'ll can sing better."
Then what? I know he wanna get somethang up wiff you so
he can brag about having the band, the Broad and the whole show!"
I say, Honey I'm loving you: why you aint loving me?"
He say" Aint loving: it's about you stepping out on me!"
Not wanting me their with you.
Rubbing vick all over your body so you can sing better. I know how you get after
you perform, I know how you is!"'Bouché and cuivré with a band?? That don't even sound right."
Say he gave ya'll a check, I bet you ya'll paying him to do these road shows."
It aint like that honey, you mad I said, but I'm going to go out theiir and do my thing."
Wish me luck, and then I came here!"
You got the vick we need to do some rehersting. It's in the bag.
A glass of vodka on the table,
A chocolate joint between the fingers,
A Tokarev in the bag,
The brain infused with adrenaline.
Misery, a nightmare,
Being poor, a curse,
Forced to drown in illicit transactions.
Survival: a necessity to exist,
Bound to poverty since the placenta.
Murder scenes as the only spectacle,
From the watchtower, the horizon is mortiferous.
Reality proclaims its sentence with a firm voice,
The cruelty of the street teaches raw lessons to worn-out heels.
Gagged souls count the dirty money that corrodes their future,
A pact of survival sealed between greasy fingers and clenched fists.
The heart hardens to feed a hungry mouth,
Prayer turns into calculation, cash becomes language.
Yellow smiles are sold, worn-out allegiances are bought,
Eyes assess, tongues negotiate the unforgivable.
A shiver of metal recalls the origin of the debts.
No respite, the market demands its tribute without mercy.
A verse carved inside lacerated fists,
Ultimate testament of a centuries-old ordeal.
Yamamoto's pitching. It's in the bag,
The Dodgers will win a pennant flag.
Of course, they'll win. How can they not?
The answer, friend, is Tanner Scott.
kraken bagged his first clipper ship on a Monday afternoon.
I love the feel of it in the bag, he told his cousin Swoon.
Swoon thought that keeping a ship in a bag was bad luck.
He asked how the creatures would breathe, but
Kraken did not give a gut
My inner voice, is a two-faced bard,
That takes all credit when a win is starred.
But slinks away and hides when the outcome,
Doesn't match what it said, what's to become.
Can I read its doubt in the quiver of its sage?
Or in the mumbled, jumble of its feeble grab to engage?
It can be so assertive when it has brace of winners in the bag.
Who am I, to shun the chance to cheer a winner's brag?
Your inner voice learned to mimic all your plays,
It's like just a ventriloquist in so many ways,
With you pulling the strings for its 'Simon Says' and 'Nays'.
'Tis the script behind the curtain that the prompt obeys.
Simon Says: "Jump",
Simon Says: "Sit",
"Stand" - Ah Hah!
Gotya! There!
The chase after door was ajar.
From window to window, that far.
The buzz in my ear,
The fly needs to fear.
The whiz of my swatter on par.
“I’m hit,” says the fly, out of steam.
Is it truly dead or a scheme?
Over and over…
its eyes ice over.
I suck up the fly with air stream.
Dear Dad, you’ll be happy to know
the fly you let in, had to go
The show he put on -
Its buzz, it is gone.
It's buried in the bag - a John Doe.
Froggy went a courtin',
"Ribbit," he did sing,
altho' singing weren't his thing,
more like the punchline to a joke,
'Please don't smoke or I might croak.'
In the deep end of the pond
true love was his goal,
and by the dawn help to spawn
a few more tadpole souls.
Hopped on to a water lily
where he espied
a fine-looking froggy filly,
and in her mouth a red, red rose,
but wait, something's amiss,
one quick kiss and he froze...
just when he had it in the bag,
oh what a shame, ain't it silly,
our frogly friend hit a snag —
for the she was a he dressed in drag.
Questions
If form follows function,
why does everything have too many bells and whistles?
Especially cell phone.
If everything is so simple a rocket scientist could do it,
why aren’t we all Werner von Braun’s?
Checkbooks are a mystery.
If the early bird gets the worm,
why are there birds out getting worms in the evening?
I get up early but I don’t eat worms.
If you are letting the cat out of the bag,
why are you telling the secret?
Why was the cat in the bag in the first place?
If curiosity killed the cat,
why aren’t more cats deceased?
I don’t like cats so_______.
If it is raining cats and dogs,
why don’t we have sturdier umbrellas?
Must get kind of messy when they hit the ground.
If we paint the town red to have a good time,
why are all towns pretty drab looking?
I only like red cars not buildings.
If someone is coming out of left field,
why don’t we just ignore them in the first place?
I played center field in little league.
If we can’t have our cake and eat it too,
why even bother having cake at all?
I just made an orange pound cake, so_______
I am excited.
A piece of candy.
Fell on the floor.
That has swirls.
But there is another piece.
In the bag.
Delicious.
The pizza guy is coming.
I thought I hated him.
But there is something about opening a door.
To someone.
But there is something about closing a door.
To stop the rain from coming in.
My sister is visiting.
I have pizza on the counter.
She put her umbrella in the corner.
She gave me a birthday gift.
The gift is perfect.
Yet feels empty.
My sister is like a stranger now.
I know her face very well.
Except her smile is different.
Older by just a bit.
Like a cake that was in the fridge for a bit too long.
And I regret forgetting about it.
She decided to stay overnight.
There was leftover pizza.
She doesn’t like green peppers like she used to.
I tried my best.
But I don’t think she liked how firm my pillows were.
I am sad.
A piece of candy.
Fell on the floor.
I was the last one after all.
Walking down the old country road,
Hand me down clothes in the bag.
Clothes with holes, and tattered robes,
There’s no worries in getting dirty
We’ll wash away the dirt in the stream,
Whilst you stand there, smiling at me.
Sing the songs that nobody’s heard
As we look above, at singing birds.
We’ll sit in meadows, of golden bed,
As we dance without shoes, into scarlet nights.
I’ll hold your hand, as I hold your heart,
I’ll make you happy, you’ll see.
I’ll publish my words, and sing my songs,
For other people to hear,
Of the days we went on the country road,
And by my side you’ll be near.
But for now I’ll wait, by the tree we met,
And I’ll wait there for your presence,
I’ll write my words, on paper with pen,
And forever I will wait, my dear.
Through out the years the brown eye girl has seen it, have heard it even been a victim to it. From the way people talked to her and others like her to how they treat them as if they were less then human. They may not say they treat people any different than the beings that they are. It’s as if they believe that the people like the brown eye girl brought it onto themselves. She expected more from the people around her the ones claiming to be her friend or their friends. Even some family members treat them as if they asked for their limits from the high power. Have they ever thought if we had the choice, we would want to be normal just like any other square peg in the bag? Now she is second guessing herself in letting in the wrong people in her life. From the people she had known all her life to the man who owns the ice cream shop in town. When will we ever get it right in who we bring in our lives? It seems to her no matter who or what happens no one really understand how to see the disabled as just people.
They assumed she’d always stay,
they assumed she’d let it slide;
They assumed nothing would rattle her,
they assumed she had no pride;
They assumed she was flimsy,
they assumed a high tolerance,
They assumed she’d put up with it,
they assumed her patience was endless;
They assumed no skull and crossbones,
they assumed she wore a white flag;
They assumed she played their game,
They assumed they had her in the bag;
They assumed her fight was her height,
they assumed the truth all along;
They assumed just about everything,
every one of their assumptions was wrong.
Everything was on her terms,
all along she was in control;
Pride was overflowing within her,
she’d be damned if she would stay.
Every year on Valentine's Day
I never conform to the pressure
of throwing away hundreds of dollars
like a drunken master
on boxes of coconut chocolates
dozens of red roses
white stuffed bears
carbonated heart balloons
and chicken in the bag snacks
with glass bottles of blue Mist
instead I would rather
sit at home and craft poems
a surprise gift from the bottom
of my heart of Leprechauns gold
embodying the authentic love
I possess for everyone in my life
like the words and verses
in the Songs of Solomon
and cannot be solicited
by currency of any shape or form
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