let’s go to the haunted cave
I can dress up and be a knave
we must take the underground wagon ride
just fifteen dollars gets me inside
I will stay here and fan myself said Grandma Wrench
She rushed over to plunk down on a tiny bench.
There are thirty-thousand bats in there she yelled to her man.
He rolled his eyes, and fished his money from the can.
The haunted cave is in Ohio, Lewisburg, and it is long.
You can walk or ride, it’s fun; you cannot go wrong.
But after seeing the bats, I decided to stay outside with Gram.
While you post Dracula kind of pix on InstaGram.
It is late at night- we three sit alone-
That is my two brothers and me.
We hear sirens- and automatically think-
Let’s play firemen.
We put on our gear and head towards the fire-
It’s cold and windy- the fire is ablaze-
We hear cries mingled with the roar of the wind.
The building is tall- the windows are barred-
The cries touch our hearts-
The ladder climber reaches the very top
The heat is unbearable- but we cannot stop.
The bars plunk down- clattering loudly to the street-
The people saved stand together in a huddle, hugging one another-
A siren shatters the night- but- it will not be needed-
Because, three firemen, have come to the rescue-
Together they make a fine team- today they stand hand-in-hand
Forever the three firemen-
When the parents came home, they carried three sleeping children to bed
Saving lives- always tires them out.
I confidently plunk down a sentence.
Trixie smacks my fingers. Too blah, too trite, too common.
My confidence rears up, angry at her critique.
Who made you the boss of us?
My other personalities begin to take sides.
Jack is always on my side, of course.
Molly wavers between Trixie One and Trixie Two.
Oh, man! I had not even thought about Trixie Too.
She heard the thought and here she came to bite me,
pinch me, torment me, and tell me how she felt about the sentence.
I watched her tear it into bits. She walked away abruptly.
That’s all you got? I thought.
Trixie slapped me. She is going for the kerosene and a lighter, you idiot.
I cannot help but wonder what a world without muses and multiple personalities is like.
When I am old I will plunk myself in my wheelchair and wheel it as hard and fast
As I can to the end of the pier.
I am not telling which one.
It is none of anyone’s business but mine.
We will plunk down hard and fast when we wheel off the edge, making a giant happy splash.
My wheelchair and I, comrades, friends, soulmates in the end.
We will scatter the startled catfish, the blue gills, and the guppies.
And we will be proud of it.
We will do it around 3:33 a.m. take or give a few seconds.
Because I have always loved threes, it will be my way to honor three.
We will stay down there quietly, bubbling and gulping.
Until the bubbling and gulping stop.
It will be an easy death
A happy death
For my wheelchair and I.
It’s Super Bowl Sunday;
Get ready to party.
Have plenty to eat
And prepare to drink hearty.
It doesn’t much matter
If you are a fan.
Just turn the game on –
That’s the start of the plan.
Plunk down bowls of chips
And have very cold brews.
Keep track of the score
‘Cause one team’s gotta lose.
Be sure to stay put
When commercials are shown.
It’s fun to see ads
That cost more than you own.
Serve wings or thick heros
And keep the beer flowing.
By halftime the fervor
Should really be growing.
Replenish the food;
Add dessert to the mix,
And glance at the passes,
The runs and the kicks.
At last, when it’s over
You’ll check out the score,
Clean up all the crumbs
And the mess from the floor.
For on Super Bowl Sunday,
It’s time to regress,
And we all watch the game
Though some couldn’t care less!
I like the rain
And its effortless thoughts
That plunk down on plastic furniture
Sleeping cars
Grimacing pedestrians
Interrupting your Sunday hair
And how we scatter away
In our silly ways, like ducks on a pond
Instead of drinking
The world
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