Long Persnickety Poems
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Hungry for munchies, on his way to the lunchroom,
a rambunctious, persnickety,“fuss-budget”, elderly
jittery, fidgety, geezer, named Cassidy…
whose questionable dexterity, aghast by a massive sneeze,
teeter-tottered precariously.
at the edge of the thingamajig, ...jigging one way, jagging the other!
Minding his own beeswax, without any rigmarole,
topsy-turvy on his feet, he reached for the balustrade,
became quite flabbergasted, and very discombobulated
when the doohickey provided for his ambidextrous aid
jiggled free from its screws, and found him footloose!
It seemed the doo-dad, put there by some nitpicking pipsqueak,
some flat-footed, hooligan, who knew diddly-squat, who obviously,
recklessly, constructed a railing, only worthy for failing!
Such foolhardy shenanigans! Was it some practical joke
to lambaste aged codgers, eliminate lodgers, and boondoggle the old folks?
Cass, was an old rabble-rouser, considered a blabbermouth,
was thrown off his epicenter, while his cane went a'sailing, appendages flailing
Onlookers, were outraged, ....in stage of amazement
but laughs grew contagious, and cock-eyed hilarious!
Those carpetbagger carbuncles of society….can’t stop this old fogy
Cass, brushed off his hinny, would not be blind-sighted..
Barbaric bedevilment, won’t halt his felicity!
Some even predicted, with his acid tongue lashings, and his eccentric behavior,
he would stir up entanglement, kibosh the haranguers
and strangle the caboodles, who hooted and hollered!
His face turned beet red, but no meltdown,......instead
He held his chin high
to the dining room, ahead....he ordered French bread
Ordered some bouillabaisse, toasted with balderdash and a shot of rye
He dined with the multitudes, ordered some strudel, and one snicker-doodle
Then he told folks a riddle, "There was a man with a cane, who slipped on a noodle, a handrail came loose, he injured his caboose….and cooked his goose!"
.....................................................
How did you get here, little one?
You are such a contrast to these dead leaves and sticks
They are gray, tan, and ugly
You are a misfit in the world of the unseen.
You usually fit onto a rearview mirror of a car.
I cannot see anyone wearing you as an eyepatch
I doubt you fell off someone’s backpack.
Wait a second, here is a thought.
A persnickety camper who attaches an air freshener to his backpack?
I smile at this absurd idea.
Should I leave you here for others to discover?
Or should I pick you up, risking my life, for you might be germy.
Playing it safe, I take a photo and leave her there to delight other writers.
Your goodliness and Godliness parades around in my head
and makes me scoff.
I used to be that way too but the devil came by with her enticing ways.
She had such a convincing spiel, I followed her gladly.
Understanding now that the sinner part of me is more fun than not.
Do you want to be stagnant? Stale? Left in the dirt?
An old maid or worse?
Your prissy ways and persnickety attitude
is going to cause you to petrify.
You will never experience the little death if you remain on this track.
Come play with me, hear the pipes? Frolic and dance; the time is ripe.
You deserve to live; eat from the fatted calf, drink some red wine.
Stop standing in the mirror of others, nurture your wanton side.
Lust and love, that’s all there is baby, and money and greed.
Let yourself have a taste of the life you crave, the good life.
They who pressure you into purity are jealous of your youth.
They want you to become moldy, green, yesterday’s bread.
Do not waste your talents, your hunger is vast
You are voluptuous, adventuresome. Taste some life my friend!
Let me help you by leading the way.....
When I saw our waiter I lost my appetite
Oh, come on said my husband don’t be so uptight!
He is a roach, I said, he could serve without his head.
They can run around for days, before they are dead.
This one has his head, and he has a great smile.
Just order soup – maybe the mushroom or crocodile.
I could not bear to eat after seeing the server arrive.
Especially when his tentacles took a little dive.
They came up flipping soup at the crowd.
Oh my gosh! I yelled, and I yelled it loud.
My husband said Don’t be so persnickety!
But I could not help feeling annoyed said Lee.
I ran from the restaurant and stayed inside.
It might be the last time I ever venture outside.
So whom did door dash send to bring me my next meal?
A roach dragging along his left foot and heel.
meet my muse Trixie.
I want to draw.
she wants to play in the Thesaurus.
Trixie is a freebooter, marauder, pirate, she plans to win.
I sketch a monkey, elephant and acrobat.
I am in circus mode.
Trixie slams her green eyes over the big book.
she is persnickety, determined, and forceful.
fat blue Thesaurus is a harpy; she flips open.
I stare at these words - deaden, anesthetized, stupefy.
write them down! Trixie demands.
she is more trouble than a gewgaw, trinket or knickknack.
I avert my eyes, not wanting to play with words
now drawing a circus tent, and a popcorn box.
red and white striped popcorn box has arms and legs.
he sticks out his tongue in maniacal cartoon laughter.
Trixie flips some pages of this dreaded book.
gleaming, sparkling, glistening stand out.
magnify, enlarge and amplify bite me on the left arm.
I am not writing right now! I tell her.
she sticks out her tongue.
eager to work on a magnum opus, creative masterpiece.
I can hardly work on the giraffe.
curious I am to read words where she is pointing
lionize, glorify, elevate
vanish, disappear, dissolve
I begin drawing a lion, trying to break my muse's spell.
It is Monday
I am at work
realizing my garbage can is missing
I look around
the library has one
it is full so I bag up the debris and discard it
Put a new bag in, and take the can to my office
Tell my friend Bride what I did
She laughs
Because the librarian is persnickety
Just wait, and watch, I say
On Tuesday I am returning from the bathroom
Bride is walking in behind Jen the librarian
Jen stops at her doorway, does not even go inside
Turns, throws up her hands and shakes them
“Someone stole my garbage can!” she yells.
I cannot look at Bride.
We are at a meeting later sitting across from Jen.
She is rambling on and on about the thief.
I am drawing garbage can cartoons
Sliding them to Bride who cannot stop laughing
I do not know what I would do
without this persnickety librarian
I have no idea, she told me. Better ask Toughie, he will know.
I have never been to a motorcycle rally, there is an excitement glow.
Another guy said the same thing. Better find Toughie, he’s on a bike.
The whole place seemed to know him, but what did he look like?
I figured Toughie was big, wild looking, with at least one tattoo.
I would ask six or eight people about him before I was through.
I hear you are looking for me, a voice yipped from the crowd.
It was a tiny dog, but his voice was extremely proud and loud.
No, I am looking for Toughie, I told him, in a persnickety way.
A bunch of other bikers began laughing; they were merry and gay.
That is Toughie; see his helmet? A club member said to me.
AMA, ask me anything; he is the smartest one you’ll ever see.
I thought AMA was American Motorcycle Association, I said.
They laughed at my idiocy, I’ll remember this until I am dead.
You aren’t from around here, Toughie guessed, going easy on me.
He had all the answers, and was as kind as could be.
Mr. Cheetah’s wife was yelling “Give him a ticket! Give him a ticket!”
He outraced two pickup trucks and an antelope down in the thicket.
The highway patrolman was on the chase immediately, ready to write.
Hurry! electronic dashboard said. In a second he will be out of sight!
He'll run seventy miles an hour, robotic voice said in a persnickety way.
You’d best give chase in the most enthusiastic, exuberant way!
Highway patrolman, had heard of cheetahs racing, but this was new.
He'd never tried to outrun one in a car, he swore the air black and blue.
Cheetah had now been joined by a friend who gave Zeke the eye.
He wondered how many others in their clan would be running on by.
He put on his siren and made as much noise as he could to stop them.
You had better stop! His wife cautioned her husband. Her face grim.
Cheetah stopped suddenly, and waited for his ticket to be written out.
That the other cheetah had made him do this, Zeke had little doubt.
She was gloating in a way that the patrolman had seen in his own life.
I’ll be snickerpackered, he said to himself. I guess she is his wife!
The bargain master peddler man rides into town two times a year.
We gather at the road, begging him to come to our house first, “please dear!”
He is riding a persnickety particular parenthesis caravan walker without fear.
The PPCW makes all of the decisions, the BMPM follows to avoid a big jeer.
He will be here when he is here, our ancestors tell us. Relax. There’s a cheer!
PPCW has chosen a house, somewhere down the road. I lend a clear ear.
They are newcomers to town. They are rude, impoliite and they drink beer!
The PPCW has stopped at their home, and the BMPM is unloading his gear!
Jill had not aged well. She looked years older than me.
My arch-nemesis from second grade, my tormenter.
Her mean looks, her nasty ways,
Not forgotten.
Remembering the hurt, the shame.
A class action mean-girl.
Although it had been over fifty years, I recognized her in a hot minute.
My heart practically stopped, when we met in the milk aisle of my hometown grocery.
I had been her whipping girl, and I remembered.
But the socialized part of me could not forget who I am, so I smiled. She did not.
Jill? I asked. She paused, but did not stop, kept going. Picked up a quart of milk, and walked on.
Jill may have been the first mean-girl in history, and I believe the only mean girl in our small town in the 50’s. Girls were not mean back then, they were clean.
My mother gave me the scoop on Jill when I returned to her home, with the donuts. Donuts she would not eat as my mother is thin, and persnickety. Fruits and vegetables for that woman.
Jill’s mother had died in childbirth, and Jill had grown up with a mean brother and a meaner father, an alcoholic who would choose liquor over his children any day.
Her life was hard, as she was the whipping girl there.
A big bully raising a little bully.
I understood now, and I could forgive.
But to forget would be impossible.
I had been Jill’s whipping girl.