My son draws images
On a scroll-like object
Storyboarding
At the age of five
He is learning that time is linear
When it isn't
He loves his watch
How it lights up
Slowly he is learning
Routine
The phases of the moon
Get your shoes on
We're going to be late
But his little sister doesn't
Know
For her
Everything is happening at the same time
Take me back to the
Cretaceous Period
It must have been
Quieter
Than
My living room
cucumber sandwiches
lettuce on the half leaf
rosy red radishes fresh from the ground!
Sounds scrumptious, says Peter.
Where are we dining?
His sisters giggle.
“Mr. McGregor’s Garden.
Peter rolls his eyes.
He has been fooled by Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail before.
Ding dong
sing along
cherry berry
cheery songs
ping pong
chocolate’s on
let’s have
choco-cherry gongs.
Chocolate covered
cherry bliss
nothing tastes
like this
even snakes
give hiss
choco-cherry
tid bits.
Dropsy flopsy
cherry-popsies
oops stuck
needs mopsy
cherry cheesecake
no bake
saucy drizzles
on plate.
bing bong
supper’s on
dessert’s a song
sing-along
cherry pie
sugar high
tasty delight
what a night!
I take my black ink and I write in large furious letters
I AM ENRAGED
But I am not.
I AM FURIOUS! Is the next thing my independent pen throws down,
Not on lines, but in an enormously disturbed way, smothering the page.
What is going on here?
Is my muse having a medical crisis?
Pointedly calm I write
“I am wild,” in a line, on a line, in a non-savage-like way.
Shotgun poetry, Trixie writes next. These two words
Are smacking the page in a willy-nilly, topsy-mopsy way.
Other words land on the table. I see SHUT UP and she laughs at me.
Not Trixie, the word “shut up”.
An entire run-on sentence lands on the floor in front of my
Table. I AM NOT HAVING A CRISIS appears in big sharp, mean, ugly letters.
As if that is not apparent.
Petey's chillin', that La-Z-Boy
Gulpin' Big his refreshing joy
swellin' swell his bellied pot
chillin', thrilling, harey sot
fast-food's bagged, the carton void
Pete's tummy growls a bit annoyed
paper's crumpled and tossed aside
McGregor's garden done gone deep-fried
smartly grasping his cell phone
so he's not alone, when all alone
paws kicked up he's nearly prone
kickin' back his chillin' zone
blue jacket became a red T-shirt
athletic-style that might exert
but rest a minute, take off them treads
and matching headband for forehead
whether stylin' cool or stylin' hot
nothin's stylin' like doin' squat
sista's pleadin' "get off yo ass!
outta that chair an' grip a grasp!"
Mopsy rants loud to no avail
an' so do Flopsy and Cotton-tail
chillin' Pete ignores their behest
relaxin's what ol' Pete does best
remembering that ol' gal B. Potter
sloth feels great but hadn't oughter
all those tales should cut 'im slack
over exertion might make a heart attack
© Goode Guy 2014-02-21
inspired from Suzanne's wonderful sketch at ODU art department showing 2014-02-20
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Rabbit