I went out in the sunshine
to feel a little glow~
but Texas cranked the thermostat
to way above “too low.”
My forehead felt like frying eggs,
my cheeks began to bake,
my brain said, “Girl, we’re melting,”
like a marshmallow on a stake.
I tried to walk with dignity,
but staggered like a mime~
the sun was doing the hokey-pokey
with my sense of space and time.
My vision wobbled sideways,
my thoughts turned into soup,
I swear I saw a tumbleweed
perform a hula-hoop, loop-de-loop.
And if you hear me muttering
about dancing sycamore trees~
just pat my arm and hand me
a cold drink, pretty please.
A RATTLING MOMENT
First, she stared at me.
Then, she just wobbled onward:
Buzzing as she went:-
Two squirrels broke into my kitchen and
found my mixing bowl~
a sweet, forbidden lake.
They dove right in with greedy paws
to sample what I was about to bake.
They slurped the batter, paw by paw,
till neither felt awake;
they wobbled, woozy, sugar-drunk
moaning, “We have a huge tummy ache.”
And when I checked my kitchen next,
I sighed, “Oh, for goodness’ sake!
Two many squirrels, with sticky tails,
had truly spoiled my cake.”
At my party, dog Snicks tried some wine
Licked one two rhum bits then felt unfine,
Round body then wobbled
Lost senses, she fumbled
Whirled on the rug, oinking like a swine!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She measured flour in cupped hands,
never teaspoons or scales~
just the way her mother taught her,
back when the world was softer.
Her fingers, knotted with time,
stirred stories into batter,
each wrinkle a sentence,
each scar a footnote.
The table wobbled,
one leg shorter than the rest,
but she never fixed it.
It’s like us, she’d say,
a little uneven, but it holds.
Now, when I press my palm
into bread dough,
I feel her pulse beneath mine,
a ghost-knead,
a whisper of flour and sweat
and something like love.
The table sits empty now,
but sometimes,
if I listen,
it still creaks
under the weight of her laughter.
the related memoir vignetted can be found at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/memories_and_ghosts_13625
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Christmas Eve’s finest sin~
a bowl left out,
a dash of gin
mixed with cream
and nutmeg dust.
Chester the squirrel placed
his tiny paws
around the bowl,
tipped it with drunken swoon,
licking the rim with reckless glee.
One sip, two—then thirty-two.
Why is the tree spinning around me?
His cheeks grew rosy;
his tail unspooled.
He hiccupped and wobbled,
declaring himself
"King of Forestown,"
tried to wrestle a lawn gnome
for crimes against
his newfound throne.
By dusk the fence post
wore a Cheshire grin.
The oak tree swayed
like ocean waves.
He misjudged a leap~
(oh gravity!)~
clung to a branch like a wind-tossed leaf,
whispering who moved the sky?
His tail, once crisp as autumn’s snap,
dragged like a half-hearted flag.
The stars, he swore,
were almonds~
if only he could crack…
Dawn found him curled up
in last year’s nest,
dreaming of
nutmeg, cinnamon
and dizzy flight~
while the world
spun, spun, and spun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The reindeer folded their hooves in protest
demanding no more rooftop dashes,
no hauling toys in winter’s blustery blast.
Picket signs read: No More Sleigh!
Dasher, his loyal and faithful reindeer servant,
even burned his harness! What should Santa do?
A desperate Santa, opened ZipRecruiter with a click~
Urgent: Sleigh Team, No Flight Experience Okay.
The squirrels showed up with acorn résumés,
gnawing the reins and forgetting the route.
Team Squirrel was speedy, but slightly unkempt,
cheek pouches bulging with ill-gotten tempt.
They zigzagged the skyline, dropping acorns like coal.
Even Santa’s sleigh wobbled left, then right~
At dawn, the squirrels parked crooked on a power line,
cheeks stuffed with stolen candy canes, utterly divine.
in waterlogged shoes
her little girl's crooked legs
wobbled through the rain
Under the soft glow of the moonlight,
he said,” You’re my moonbeam,
My knees wobbled as if I were about
to fall,
Quickly, he encircled me in his arms,
and softly, my name I heard him call,
From a distance, I could hear something like a scream,
As I opened my eyes, he was nowhere
to be seen,
The scream was my alarm clock, the robber who robbed me of my beautiful dream.
By Zyrool
Two grandmas rushed in setting a fast pace
For this grocery store shopping cart race
Their faces angry, occasionally flashing an evil eye,
Needing ingredients to bake their homemade pumpkin pie
They’re on a search for pumpkin puree
If not there, their holiday it would delay
Their carts were lite, their minds set
Crashing into each other's carts without regret
Their glasses fogged, their sneakers low
They were unabashed to let the curse words flow
A wobbled wheel here, a slow mover there
The last ingredients they were unwilling to share
There’s no way they’d buy a store made pie
They’re too proud to serve such a lie
With hiked up pants and a sweater vest
These two grandmas were put to the test
Who’d get the last can and be the hero of the party.
While the other would cry “you old farty”
But what’s that coming down the isle
The clerk sporting a fresh new style.
He’s carrying boxes of purée for all to adore
The women still cursing as they head for the door
Both holidays were saved from critical disaster
But we’ll never know which grandma was faster.
I dragged this cig, my brain went far gaga,
The same cigarette brand that brought me joy;
A puff, and I slipped into a pooh-Bah,
One short drag became enough to destroy.
My legs wobbled, the world around me spun,
I heaved heavily, yet relief slept still;
The fun I sought had never yet begun,
In its stead, I commenced a mental drill.
As I puffed a new cig to chase a fad,
Deeper curiosity did arouse.
How can a mere cigar torture so bad,
A dream taught me the thought in intense drowse.
Later I learned the cig was laced with crack~
The closest I came being a junkie;
That pal later picked madness in bump's track,
Why I never became a crack flunkey.
silverware tarnished
forks absent some teeth
plates chipped at the edges
set of cups incomplete
the table wobbled and creaked
like them, sad and bleak...
down the block from prosperity
of which they hadn't a peek
hearts wobbled ^ felt sick <
^ ^
passion pricked °°°
••••••
amour clicked ~~~~~~ ¢
Seeds of desires were sown as our glances met.
Emotive urge started to flow though hidden yet.
Wobbled heart got confused to manifest.
No way ! Shy silent love to hesitate.
Not sure, whether you will reciprocate !
Better, you might approach, I’ll watch and wait.
But I chose you as king of my little empire.
My passion was piercing me to ignite fire.
Unable to express myself, but I’m sincere.
I won’t suppress ardent ardour more, it’s clear.
I must drive away clouds of dilemma entire.
“The clouds parted like the pursed lips of desire.”
the seahorses grazed in a field undersea
the jellyfish wobbled at the party
the starfish in their constellations went
the clams secretive tight lipped and silent
the hammerhead sharks did the DIY
the clown fish entertained as they swam by
the plankton ruled undersea in their gangs
the octopuses spent too long shaking hands
the crabs on the side their day they spent
the lobsters approached in a pincer movement
the sea urchins loitered dishevelled and poor
while the oysters enjoyed everything and all
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