my dogs love their midnight snack
I toast each of them two slices of bread
tear it up, put it on a large dinner plate
melt each of them a cup of butter
not margarine, only the best for my dogs
I saturate the toast in butter and add a bit of meat and cheese
It is kind of like a dog pizza, and they have gained a bit of weight
no one knows why
the vet asks me what they eat
dog food, I say
I loved margarine so much,
excellent for my breakfast;
Got one at our kitchen sink,
In yellow box, looked yummy!
I took my sandwich and knife,
spread thickly on it.. once, twice -
Mom cried, “That’s dishwashing paste!”
The class thing
I’m working class from the very beginning, my mother worked in a fish factory putting sardines
In the meantime, she went to work before me. My breakfast was standing in the kitchen, eating a slice of bread with margarine. if the school served breakfast, I ate there
I noticed early in life that those who spoke with educated voices got better treatment than we who spoke the street parlance
I tried to speak as the educated did, which made me tongue-tied and deeply shy, but it helped me to get an education of sorts
It was only after stumbling, falling, and reading that I came to see I hail from an honorable class that built our nation after World War 2
Seaweed, another nutritious meal,
With an acquired taste in a meal,
I desire for my breakfast,
What is the purpose,
Is it the cellulose,
That is so delicate to be pulled by the force,
Enhanced by the source,
Here, I found the origin,
I wish it would taste addictive like margarine,
Or tangerine,
In the summer,
I blenched it with salt and water,
It could not get any better,
What is more settler,
I grab a bowl,
The essence is rich,
Yet, I extract it for more,
I don't want to get the tongue sore,
I let the broth do more,
It is an enjoyable meal,
I set it on the chill,
I wait until till,
What does it call then,
I could have it by ten,
How much I appreciate it, till then.
Christmas 1947
It was a time of deep poverty
with flour, milk, and margarine
my mother made porridge
put the pan on the table
said to her three children
dig in it is all we have
went to bed and bitterly cried
A child doesn't know it is poor
we ate the porridge and fought
about who was to scrape
the caramelized bottom of the pan
We, children with belly full
went to sleep, my sister on the
sofa, my brother and I on the floor
The price of water
Driving down from Eyrie- I said that
to sound educated, I never had much schooling
and often feel inferior when asking for the price
of a packet of margarine
I was thinking of God's existence; is he a man
or a woman, perhaps an unfortunate person
who wears a suit to work but would rather
wear a smart lady outfit.
I wondered if he was in charge of the rainbow
if so, I would like a brighter color; the rainbow
looked pale as a sullen milkmaid at six in the morning
tell him to let the rainbow show where it ends
saving us to go hunt for the elusive gold coins
When it is stuck firmly on the ground
let children have found while adults hopefully dig
At the bottom of a hill, a dry river, its banks looked sandy and
I thought of Palestine and the poverty they have to endure
The thought of water reminded me I had to pay
the water bill today, or they will shut me off
When it is too late
When I was twelve I lived at a farm milking and looking after cows, but a war had ended and the impression it made stayed with me and nothing could change the imprint of my mind
I lived a good life herding sheep and milking cows and my best friend was a little horse called Dolly and she loved me, she never had a foal, and in her mind, I was
a good substitute mind, I spent hours brushing her and trimming her horse mane
Idyllic, wasn't it? Worth writing poetry about the bumble bees and hens finding worms in the dark soil
Despite this, I missed my old life the fear the uncertainty
of sitting in a bomb shelter, the one under the schoolhouse
listening to the worried voices of the adults, waking up going back to our flat where my mother's brother had secured a loaf and margarine and the happiness the meager offering brought, it was all too late I had been conditioned to a life where tomorrow is not an extension of today. I left the secure life.
From a life of turmoil to the risk of violence by the mob in the knowledge that my mother loved me, for this, a son can endure the hard time.
Gluggy margarine marine grips keels
Apex sun spreads sickly circle of lard
Plugged lungs, gust momentum marred
Strait elongates co-ordinate, pace killed
Gliding knife grease fixed current kestrels
Impotent motor pendulums drowsy matelot
Vacating tranquillity served seas slow
Exoteric tampers spatula flat vapid vessel
Crusading armada cruise aquatic canyon
Rigid crucifix mast meanders evangelical
Illusive land sinks split quills, sodalite inkwell
Top-gallant swallowed, whale snack plankton
Inert surrender line honours, hundred strong
Quelled by existence Earth centric
Universe of solar centre offensive
Encourages complacent latent symposium
Rigging ties tradition to methods regaled
Order drifts on brittle fine line filament
Oceanic only planet confirms familiar
Moribund remains phobic, slick oil sailed
18th February
Fear of Anarchy
GAPS GIVE CRITIQUE ROOM
Don't dare joke with their doctrine
Nor raise it in a latrine
Like had tried Goofing Kathrine
Now melted like margarine!
Their Doctrine not in bathrooms:
Bathtubs never living rooms;
Their camera can scenes zoom,
As one body choose your doom!
One they won't mind battering
And one's tressure scattering;
No rowing of one's bought boat
No testing of one's new coat...
You they shall tell with cleared throat
" Your body shall in pond float!"
Its Malice that won't Vanish;
Evil thoughts they won't banish.
Whatever happened to breakfast, lamented French Toast
People love me, gushing with syrup, I used to boast
But now my brand is flat as a pancake
~ as popular as a post-Halloween ghost
A dozen eggs beat back tears as they sat in a box
while patrons flocked toward the cream cheese and lox
Once a staple of a sound start to the day
~ now bagels and doughnuts hold sway
There there's whole milk and butter
lovingly culled from Betsy's best utter
Given way to that nebbish 'skim milk' and oily margarine
~ at their pale appearance I just shudder
But at least I pack my children a solid lunch ~
Peanut butter sandwich, corn chips, and twinkies to munch
Our eyes met in the supermarket queue,
She sent my heart a flutter,
But then all thoughts of love ebbed away,
In her basket, margarine not butter.
I’m dining with my cousin Giles
Who disclosed he’d terrible piles
He’s wriggly and twitchy
Cos his butt’s so itchy
His visage is sad, there’s no smiles
He’d tried using soft margarine
This process had just made him scream
So he did not linger
With his index finger
But Anusol worked like a dream
I said it was my understanding
That surgeon ‘s do hemorrhoid banding
But if he has it done
Sitting down he may shun
On this subject I won’t be expanding!
Next time I saw my Cousin Giles
They’d successfully removed his piles
So he can sit down
No trace of a frown
And Giles is chock full of smiles
10/09/21
The hours fade away
Like old men at evening
Wearied of the day
As their lives drift by,
Like the slow /swift sailing
Of clouds in a margarine sky
And fall in flakes as the pendulums sway
To those man-imagined measures of decay.
Give me a taste of yellow butter please.
Not that crummy oleo or margarine.
I want homemade rolls not that store bought stuff.
And beef and noodles made by my mother.
Nothing else.
Bluebonnet Margarine
Blonde girl with pigtails
In a blue checked gingham blouse
And a white pinafore
Showing us how GREAT
It tastes.
And it does spread easier
Than butter.
For Sure!
We are innocent
Easily led.
Still believing in people’s good.
We switch over easily.
Finally forgetting
What real butter used to taste like.
I had some the other day.
Wow!
Suddenly reawakened
And refreshed!
Despising the pigtail girl.
Uh-oh.
I just looked up the ad.
It was the Sunbeam Bread girl.
Scratch this one.
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