Long Babysat Poems
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I picture Phyllis – soft and lovely face,
a smile dimpled sweet and luminous;
her fuchsia lips drop syllable in lace.
She carries grace, for God was generous.
In matter of the heart, a lucky one -
revered was she by two who loved her true.
Each one, a moon, they yielded to her sun
and cherished her until their days were through.
The first beloved she bid adieu late spring.
Though cancer stole his life, he’d left his seed.
She wed a second love, which eased death’s sting.
From summer on, sweet joy would then proceed.
Her sons are grown, her late adored – a ghost.
But she has savored seasons more than most.
*This was inspired by a church woman whose boys
I babysat in my youth. She remained a stunning
beauty even into her old age.
May 22, 2023
For Sotto Poet's Sonnet Poetry Contest
I have babysat a roomful of six year olds,
my heart beating louder than a pack of screaming hyenas.
I walked out with them quiet and safe in their parents arms.
I improvised a speech to an audience of millionaire entrepreneurs
that ended in a standing 'O'.
Often I danced with titanic sharks,
and even French Kissed Killer Whales.
I have slept deep in the grip of ink black jungles
on mid summer nights, no dream.
Once I hung on with two broken arms
five hundred feet above my demise, without a whimper.
I skated through fields of dead bodies
in not just one but two very nasty wars.
Played tag with the devil and in the end hung
his left horn above my fireplace,
yeah my fireplace I owed him that.
I swam naked on the crest of a waterfall
from the top of its peak to the concrete sheet at its bottom.
Many times, I have partied with death,
her bones drenched in the fluids of our perverse acts,
but not once did she leave the party with me on her arm.
But please,
p
p
p
p
p p p please,
don't,
please don't,
make me talk to my EX-WIFE again!
10~10~2014
I remember how I loved babysitting our grandchildren
how neatly they fit into my arms.
I remember being impressed with their intelligence and captivated by their charms.
How they would spend the night with us…how we’d make sure that they were fed
how we’d play some games, watch a movie then send them off to bed.
How in the morning we’d make pancakes…in any size or shape requested
and smile as our handiwork was so easily digested.
But grandchildren grow up…a fact no grandparent can ignore
and there comes a time when grandchildren don’t need babysitting any more.
So the other night when Deborah had some friends over I thought it would be sweet
to make a date by taking Ali and two of our grandchildren out to eat.
I saw this as a way to spend some time with them
but Ava had a different point of view
She said, “Remember when you use to babysit us, PopPop?
Now we’re babysitting you!”
And I had to laugh but it made me wonder when she repeated it again
What’s the difference between them now babysitting me
and when I was babysitting them?
The main difference of course is we’re all older and they no longer fit into my arms
but I am still impressed with their intelligence and captivated by their charms.
Their world has expanded outward…their life is more complex
our conversations are more adult now..though sometimes their mom objects.
Despite the fact we’re older we still visit with the same joy and laughter and vigor…
although now when we play UNO…the cards seem so much bigger!
They no longer spend the night…and after dinner when I was sure they had been fed
since they now stay up much later than me…I drove home and headed off to bed.
Hoping our grandchildren remember when we babysat…
hoping those days are etched deep in each one’s memory.
hoping they remember the last time I babysat them with as much joy
as I’ll remember the first time they babysat me.
Dedicated to My Darling Sister, My Punky
Love for my sis makes me like her own Bolshevik
so though I would rather swallow a stranger's lipstick,
I babysat her ground-dweller - her dog - named Limerick.
Once - outside while his wiz-biz defied arithmetic,
I noticed he had one gross fully plump black tick.
All that was nearby were pliers and a yardstick.
When he suddenly rolled over, my reaction was slick -
I grabbed up the pliers and I surely grabbed quick
before thoughts of bloody surgery made me sick.
Limerick was still while I pinched at my gross vic.
I pulled but that slimy tic bugger was too slick.
Over and over, I failed at click, pull and then flick.
When limerick cried out and gave me a tender lick
I called for my husband to join our happy picnic.
He examined Limerick who whined long and thick
then laughed, Honey, he said, you funny lunatic -
You have been pulling at a mole, poor dog has no tick
Helen is hysterical, so witty you laugh until you cry,
She’s a little spit-fire, 4 foot 11 -- a bit of a short fry,
Now I can say that because she knows it’s said in jest,
There is no finer person, as a friend she is truly my best.
We met while nursing where we had so much fun,
Managing to laugh at work yet still get the job done.
While we have switched jobs and moved to a different place,
We are only as far away as it takes to pack our suitcase.
At my Mom and Dad’s funeral I was lost and very sad,
She sat by my side, filling in as family that I no longer had.
Always there in my life for the very best and worst of times,
If I need her, she gets to me, over obstacles she climbs,
Following major surgery she came to nurse me to health,
Her kindness, compassion and care, is her greatest wealth
She babysat my children and made my favourite meal,
Kraft dinner and homemade applesauce, oh what a deal.
She said I needed a pick me up, so she bought hair dye,
Slowly applying the hair colour, careful not to get in my eye.
When my hair went purple and ended up a flashy, brillant red,
She said you don’t need a mirror, just know you don’t look dead.
Our husbands understand our bond, having been through so much,
We never miss a birthday, Christmas or any reason to stay in touch,
I sometimes feel guilty as it seems she is always there to help me,
She’ll say “Oh don’t be so silly, it’s just because I love you Lee”
I never feel so good as I do when I am with my friend Helen,
Together we’ve nursed patients and even the occasional felon,
We met on my first nursing job and she became my best friend,
Some forty years later, our longtime friendship still has no end.
Dedicated to my best friend Helen Tilden
Written July 21, 2011
For contest “Ode to a friend”
Won 6th Place
Lay away.
I had never heard the term
Until I saw a friend use it. We were in seventh grade.
We had both fallen in love with a purse with large ugly brown beads attached to the side.
Hers was blonde, mine was orange.
I lamented I could not have it.
Lay a way, she chanted. Lay a way! Lay a way!
I had never heard of it.
This is where you put three dollars down,
The only three dollars you have,
Your babysitting money that used to come hard back then, when
We babysat a family of six for twenty-five cents an hour.
And you have to come back to the store and pay the rest of the money in installments
Until you are finally finished plunking down the whole twelve dollars.
Her mother had taught her,
And she taught me.
It nearly worried me to death.
Scared I would never get the rest of the money to them.
Knowing not only would the purse not be mine
But that if I could not scrounge up the
Rest of the cash, I just lost twelve hours
Worth of babysitting six children.
It don't hurt.
—Johnny Thunders, lead guitarist of The Dolls, last words
My ancestors are made of malt and barley,
barely a drop of water left—
Midas in jorts and Nikes,
overplaying hands, turning miracles
into Milwaukee's Best.
I call it Bacchanal; they call it survival—
hedonistic sounds more literary
than alcoholic.
A heritage of rootless feet, ten men’s teeth
between twenty, all rotted. They were proud
of the wrong things. My father says
he could take a punch. I know better—
the arc of his arm, the twist of his knuckles.
I know he can throw one. I know
how to mold frozen peas to a blue eye,
how to save his day with this phrase:
It don’t hurt.
The confidence it took
to laugh with Huber Heights police—
****-talking mouthy kids like me,
while I brokered backyard deals,
babysat for safety, blowjobs as currency—
a language the dads understood.
Only way to get them to call 9-1-1,
report another pillar of their community,
when they heard my screams.
My tongue burns
with things I haven’t even said—
about fathers and fists, the slow murder
of tenderness. Just a pinch of it
could’ve saved one of us, maybe both—
at least given me a shot at rewriting this,
revising my father’s memory,
sloshing in my gut,
heavy as the blood-soaked prostate
of that long-gone man.
You can’t protect yourself
from this kind of inheritance,
same booze, different brand.
But I’m a woman with the gift of language
bad-lipping the devil who brought me to this dance—
still here, gaining muscle in my tongue,
writing my way out of this silence,
spilling ink like piss on a grave,
acting it like it matters—
I’m finally the one laughing, hoping
this page outlasts that mother****er’s legacy.
SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH HE BABYSAT FOR MY FOUR CHILDREN WHILE SPECIAL AGENT PAULA BRAND INSTALLED THE WIRES ON MY UNBORN CHILD LEROY WAS THE SUPERVISOR I HAD TO CARRY OUT HIS DUTIES I AM BLESSED HE TOOK MY KIDS TO THE BEACH SINGING MY GIRL NO GREATER LOVE HE WAS AN AWESOME FATHER HE HAD FIVE KIDS HIMSELF I FELT MY KIDS WERE SAFE THIS HELPED ME GO INSIDE HOSTAGE SITUATIONS BUYING WEAPONS AND DRUGS FROM JUNK SICK OFFICERS AND MAKE IT BACK FINNY TODAY FBI SUPERVISOR BABY SITTING MY FOUR KIDS IT WAS LIKE HAVING CHILD CARE WHILE BEING AN INFORMANT I COULDN'T WORK IF MY KIDS WEREN'T SAFE SORRY FOR MY IMPOSTER TAKING ADVANTAGE OF SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH LEAVE HIM ALONE YOU WERE BREAKING IN MY HOME LEROY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT TAKE NOTES YOU EILL NEVER EVER CLONE ME JAMAICAN TALIBAN IDENTITY THIEVES RACKETEERING EXTORTING EMBEZZLING VETERANS AND THEIR DISABLED FAMILIES I WAS BLESSED LEROY WAS THIER I WAS HIS BACK UP TODAY MY WAR HEROR GOT MY BACK SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH IS FISHING NOW THINKING ABOUT ME TELEPATHIC BEHAVIOR ANALYST HE TAUGHT ME TO DO HIS JOB WHILE HE PLAYED WITH MY CHILDREN YOU ARE A DOMESTIC TERRORISTS IDENTITY THIEVES SPECIAL AGENT LEROY HEIMBACH NEVER BROKE INTO MY HOME FOR IMMUNIZATION RECORDS TO KILL MY INFANT HE SAT DOWN WITH MY CHILDREN AND I WE HAD LEMONADE AND TEA HE WOULD NEVEER PUT ME IN HARMS WAY LEAVE HIM ALONE JHORE YOU'VE KILLED ENOUGH MEN YOU WILL NOT HARM MY WAR HERO STAY AWAY FROM MY DISABLED FAMILY YOUR SOUL SHALL BE SWALLOWED UP BY THE LION OF JUDEA HAILE SELASSIE THE LION SHALL PUR AT MY FEET JUST HE DID THAT BEAUTIFUL DAY YOUR RASTA ANDREW PERISHED AT MY FEET I WATCHED THE LION OF JUDEA SWALLOW HIS SOUL AS HE TRIED TO CRAWL SLIDING LIKE SERPENT COVERED IN BLOOD THAT'S WHEN THE GUNMAN SAW HIS SOUL SCREAM HE JUMPED FROM THE TRUCK AND PUT FOUR MORE SLUGS IN HIS BACK HIS SHOE SHOT OFF HIS FEET NOW I SHOOT YOUR SOUL HAILE SELASSIE RASTAFARIAN LION OF JUDEA DON'T YOU EVER CROSS MY PATH AGAIN
Five Three Eight
In that order
See it all the time
Reminding me of Stan, a really wonderful man
Who was not great at business
I worked for him as a cashier when I was sixteen
He always had a smile but was new in town
Almost no one shopped in our store
Because he was new
He was so happy when
anyone came in
I felt so sad for him
I babysat for him and his wife sometimes
Their children were darling cute and smart
Two, four and six, all knock-offs of him and his wife
A cute couple, sweet, but neither realizing
Small town USA is not open to newcomers
Five Three Eight
His store number
The thing that killed him
At a young age
The night before his grandson was born
May third, two thousand and eight
The same as his store number
I babysat her that fine day-
wrapped up so snug in pink and white.
The scent of baby powder lay
upon her skin- such soft delight.
Just for an hour, while her dear mom
went out for errands to be done,
I rocked and sang to her, so calm,
on their back porch, neath autumn's sun.
Next morn- loud sobbing, I did hear-
a living nightmare had come true.
Just two weeks old- a dreaded fear
turned joy to sadness- impromptu.
I babysat her that fine day
wrapped up so snug in pink and white.
The scent of baby powder lay-
crib death took her away that night.
Sandra M. Haight
True Story - happened September 1958,
to our dear friends, next door - haunts
me still to this day.