POEM - The Twinkie Suite: Fit the Third

An ode I offer at our story's close

Of simple  joys and pleasures sought

How sadness turned to sweet repose

Despair in to a hopeful thought

Well, not so much an ode

As a really good story

A family tradition with sweet roots

It’s time to tell the story

How it happened

Quell the controversy

It was a Sunday in the late 80’s

After my Aunt Julie and family

Had made the move from Cali

To the suburban haven of Tempe

They spent a lot of time at our house

Which we liked, looked forward to

Julie was the one looked up to

By all the older cousins, the teens

As she had only recently departed that club

And seemed to still know what it meant

More than any of her siblings

So it was Sunday night

Playing games and talking

And the hours passed and passed

Until finally the snacks ran out

A tragedy rooted in our conviction

To do no shopping on the Sabbath

It was then the tradition began

With a little help from the clock

As it ticked off the last seconds to midnight

To complete Sabbath, and we were off

Almost before the thought hit

To grab some snacks and extend the fun

It was Twinkies that we embraced

And Ding-Dongs and Zingers

Green olives and Dove bars

And snacks and treats galore

In the first moments of that Monday

The Twinkie Run was born

POEM - The Twinkie Suite: Fit the Second

O giddy gurgling gullet glands!

My joy bubbles eek within

Dribbling and wrangling frothily

Betwixt unctuous throat warbles

And cacophonous belly twitters

Today a joyous news heralds out

Flinging true and happy words

To reward the patient and devout

And calm the restless mulling herds

Who in a devastating moment

Were stripped of happiness and glee

Those responsible could not comment

As tears flowed like the raging sea

Then last Tuesday

The 12^th of March

The internet was seen to say

The court approved

The sale was set

Extinction thwarted without delay

A now the songs the children sing

Once fraught with minor chords

Have been transposed to the major key

As bards write happier words

Gleaming eyes gaze to summer days

When Twinkie, in triumph, shall return

POEM - The Twinkie Suite: Fit the First

Dearly beloved we are gathered here today

To mourn the passing of a dear friend

A unique and caring individual

So soft and sweet

A golden companion

With a delicious cream filling

Your trials are now passed

As you fall to memory

Residing in the annals of history

          And in many a lower intestine

Now only legend

As even the most frugal reserves

Are long depleted

One box after another falling

To gluttonous orgies of tribute

Now it is left to the bards

To sing elegiac ballads

As solace to the mournful souls  

Who once of heady nights of yore

Would emerge amidst the dark

As the blessed Sabbath expired

To sally forth on quests of plunder

Chasing sweetened spongy cakes

Filled with creamy white ambrosia

POEM - Feel Good Day

It’s a day where I feel good

An infrequent event lately

The right combination occurred

Just enough sleep

A good breakfast

The right mix of aspirin and caffeine

Drove to work in a light morning rain

Rain gave way to a gorgeous afternoon

A few fleeting clouds

Temperatures cool, not cold

I walked down the stairs at work

Noticed that my knees cooperated

Much better than the last few days

The day got even better

Good music in my headphones

Keeping me focused and efficient

A little Pearl Jam screams away

As I work the spreadsheet

Between impromptu drum solos

Home tonight I’ll hug my wife

A little longer than usual

Make the kids groan and protest

Delay the inviting dinner

For those few intimate moments

POEM - Misunderstanding the News

First there was talk of a Murder

Somehow crows were front page news

Then a story of a Crash

Which would be something

To see rhinos running past

Next was a story about a Parliament

And a Congress having talks

And I wondered what owls and salamanders

Could possibly have to discuss

My confusion depend further

As an Army was mentioned

With pictures of guns and soldiers

Instead of frogs at attention

On to a story about a Lounge

Which caught my attention

Cause I like lizards

In case I didn’t mention

All they talked about was a Pandemonium

So I guessed parrots were sighted

And a Mischief in the air

Which raised my concern

Cuz mice don’t normally fly

Then sports came on

And things got stranger

There was an archer with a Quiver

Of arrows instead of cobras, go figure

So I just gave up

Decided to look out the window

At all my lovely unicorns

They are definitely a Blessing

POEM - Worst Sick-Day Ever

Nothing could be better

Than a sick day during the week

Conversely

Nothing could be worse

Than a sick day on the weekend

I got the worse option

Probably karma

Because I half faked a sick day on Monday

Now I have been half sick since Friday night

I would really rather have the full blown treatment

With the vomiting and the runs

That goes for 24 hours

Followed by an accelerated recovery

What I have is an iron constitution

That has decided to hold the ranks

Prevent a retreat, stall an advance

For two days, allowing me to remain

Mostly functional, teetering on the edge

It is the indecision that is killing me

Sequestered on Sunday evening

Finally heading down the sick path

While the rest of the house

Feeling better and making cookies

Look at me critically and ask their mother

“What’s his problem?”

POEM - What you Shouldn’t See in the Store

The lovely green container caught my eye

Sitting there next to the sausage patties

And the odd frozen breakfast foods

Like the breakfast corn dog

Only the dog is a sausage

And the corn is a blueberry pancake

And I’ve now forgotten what caught my eye

Because none of this makes sense

And then I get close enough

To read the label

Red block letters spelling out inconceivable words:

SELECTED PORK BRAINS

I had thought it was guacamole

From that distance, and using logical reasoning

Boy, was I wrong, so very wrong

I should have guessed a ruse

Since guacamole belongs with Mexican food

And this container belongs in a landfill

Then I think of the joke

“This gives a whole new meaning to brain food!”

But really, who eats this stuff

Especially for breakfast

POEM - Land Wars in the Late Suburban Period

We begin each night with me

Resting my weary carcass
Supporting myself on you
Right arm draped across your chest

My left hand is buried

In the cool recessed cavern

Below your pillow draped with graying hair
My right leg hooked over your right knee

Nestled close and comfortable

In amorous entanglement
You allow this moment

Only if I remember the rules

As my breathing deepens and slows
There is one last requirement to fulfill

I must rise and adjust

Shift my whole person a step back
Separating from your tender fold
Repositioning to a pre-determined safe distance

I'm told I am a restless sleeper
My arms flinch frequently, performing
Body spasms and jumps erratically

Prone to act out my dreams

In disconcerting jolts, reckless
Kicks and tremors arriving in waves

Makes you a restless sleeper, too

I return here every night 

To make the same bad decision

To sleep on my back 

Despite the apnea

Despite the tremulous snores 

That plague your every attempt at sleep

I look forward to your command 

“Roll over on your side!"

It is another thing that you do

To prove again just how much more

You care for me

Another thing I insist pursuing

To show I refuse to learn my lesson

POEM - Ralphing

Sometimes I get that call

The one from the nurse’s office

To tell me one of the kids is sick

Sometimes it is expected

We’ve sent the kid to school

With our fingers crossed

Hoping they will make it through

Because three days of a sick kid at home

Makes you question your existence

But other times, like today

It comes from out of the blue

And the nurse informs me that EzP is sick

He has thrown-up

In the classroom

Please come pick him up

So my wife goes

And then I hear about it

It took an extra ten minutes

Once she arrived at the school

Because he had another “incident”

The nurse had extra bags for the ride home

How considerate and necessary

Another release on the way to get lunch

Again on the way home

Then he eats one bite of food

Walks in the kitchen door

And makes a deposit on the table

The worst must be over

I foolishly think

Until the phone rings

“You’ll be glad to know,” she says

And I know that I am not

“It is coming out of both ends now!”

I just remembered

I will be home late tonight

POEM - Haiku

Remember that time we wrote Haiku?

Or is it Haikus?

Or Haikuses? Or a Gaggle?

Well, whatever it is, do you remember?

Back and forth the play of words

There was the one about lunch

Five simple reasons

To give you another look

Mustard on your tie

Then I took the opportunity

To say how much I appreciate

Your timely safety advise

You are right of course

But I hadn’t killed myself

Before you showed up

Don’t forget that small faux pas

In the middle of the Walmart

That I cleverly confessed to

A couple of points

Just to clear the air of doubt

I, in fact, did fart

Or how you told me

Just how much you like Haiku

Every single line

Of this diminutive crap

Causes me anger

POEM - Gnat-urally

How silly the vanity of a gnat

Returns again and again

To whisper sweet nothings

Obsessed as they are

With their own buzzing rhetoric

I watch from across a busy room

Pondering at the swarming cloud

Stroking their collective egos

Self-absorbed, they flock to lights and mirrors

Certain these glorious beacons exist

Only to serve their endless beauty

Adore yourselves a little longer

My foolish preening fairies

Spout your buzzing prattle

For just a few moments more

Yes, the mirror does you justice,

And don't you look lovely my dears

Their hubris is their downfall

The hand of death stands ready

I pose one last question as I strike

"What's the last thing

that will go through your mind

when I smash you

on to the mirror?"

I know you’d laugh

If only you could

If you weren't dead

I'll tell you anyway . . . Your butt!

I notice a few of the corpses twitch a little

As I deliver the punch line

Maybe I've been too harsh

They really aren’t that bad

After all, the value of a sense of humor

Should never be underestimated

POEM - I Brought my Surfboard

Who can deny the rush

Facing down a set of curling waves

The spray in your face

The sun over head

A salty wet play land

I hear it’s a great time

From everything I’ve seen

All the movies and shows

Watching the surfers at the beach

Something I’ve always wanted to do

And the Fates, it would seem, are on my side

Leaving our friends apartment in Long Beach

Driving down the back alley

There it was, lonely and discarded

A beautiful 6 foot tri-fin in aqua

Calling to me, begging to be taken home

So we picked it up an tossed it in the back

For the five hour trek

To the middle of the desert

Phoenix, that is

Palm trees and swimming pools

And no ocean

So my new found prize

Took up a place of honor

In my garage

Giving the impression it was mine

That I somehow knew what to do with it

But it will never truly be mine

Until we walk together into the briny deep

To become master of waves

Walker of the ways of water

POEM - The Only Drink that Matters

This could be seen as an advertisement
Or perhaps an endorsement
For a land that must be experienced
At least once in a lifetime
The reward is well worth the initial shock

There is this magical land 
In the cheesy backwaters 
Of north east South Carolina
You can’t help but find it 
Just one wrong turn 
Finds you South of the Border

A land forgotten by time and good taste
Where the kitsch flows free
In a flooding fiesta of bright colors
While every Hispano-American related pun

Screams from billboards and postcards

And store names and knick-knacks

And anywhere else it can be printed, painted or posted

This menagerie, however, is only a backdrop

A multi-hued distraction

On the path to Nirvana

From this place ambrosia flows

In spicy amber waves of bliss

It enlivens and awakes in all

A desire for greatness

A feeling of contentment

And an attitude of thanks

In just the first taste of tonic

It is the legendary Blenheim of which I speak

A ginger ale worthy of Valhalla or Olympus

It flows onto the tongue like liquid gold

And then burns through your nasal cavity

Like the breath of a raging dragon

Who has just consumed ginger laden boats

Off the shore of India

And that is the mellow bottle of the gold top

Reach for the dark pink top and the game changes

Now it is two dragons and a chimera

With each sip raging through the nose

Followed by convulsing sneezes

Which inflict third degree burns

On everyone and everything around you

Ahhh! Refreshing!

POEM - No Sir-ree

There is really nothing to argue about

I’m going to live longer

It’s just a statistical and universal fact

It’s not like it’s a bad deal

After all, I get stuck here with the kids

I’m not saying it is tomorrow

Or even any time soon

So no need to go and get huffy

With your panties all in a bunch

Come on, look at the intrinsic evidence

You come from a people ridden with cancer

I have endless self confidence

And an indomitable optimism

Not to mention all the cinnamon and ginger I eat

Not to mention my love for raw milk

and my amazing immune system

See, there’s your problem, right there

Just dismiss all the evidence

No second thought, with you

Dismiss, dismiss, dismiss

It is written in the stars

Yet you turn a blind eye

Which I might add wouldn’t be blind

If you drank more carrot juice

Which I squeeze fresh each day

How can I be so sure, you ask

Well Jiminy Cricket told me

Straight to my face through the TV

I know it was a national broadcast

But I caught the sub text

“I’m no fool, no sir-ree,

            I’m gonna live to be hundred and three!

Cuz I play safe for you and me,

            Cuz I’m no-o-o-o foo-oo-ooo-lll!”

The diminutive green oracle

Predicted my impressive life span

In the dawning of my glorious era of time

            As it was sung, so let it be done

POEM - Foxy Blue

I got her as a one and a half owner

The guy had bought it for his son in college

The son had no interest in learning stick

So, I lucked out

With a 30 year old Volvo

All original interior

Owned by an old couple in Columbia

Only used for trips to market

And church on Sunday

Just 140,000 original miles

Looking like it had just rolled off the showroom floor

Now, why I wanted a Volvo, I don’t know

My dad always liked them

Talked of getting one and never did

I am now on my third

And she is definitely the best yet

In fact, you should be jealous

Cuz she’s a sweet ride

Sure, it can be a dog on hills

And there are no cup holders

And the muffler fell off last year

But just look at her, my lady blue

And I know this for a fact, you see

Went to pick up some Little Squeezers

And the guy in the taxi out front

Hailed me down

“What year’s your Volvo?”

            “Eighty-Three”

“Good for you!”

            “And she’s a stick”

“Good for you, good for you . . .

That’s a fox on wheels right there

            Good for you!”

Yes she is, sir, yes she is indeed!

POEM - Not Really

Sometimes I am amazed

By the weird stuff people believe in

(Like I have any room to talk!)

But I do like to research

And I like the critical process

So I wish sometimes an investment was made

A few extra seconds

To check that opinion

That dearly held belief

That quirky aversion

Before you spout off

Say that sentence

The one that gets to my hand

Makes it slap me in the forehead

Then I shake my head

And raise my arms to the sky

In awed wonderment and disbelief

No, I’m sorry, you are wrong

A peace sign is not a broken cross

Or a sign of the devil

Or a modified swastika

Or any of the other hundred stupid ideas

I can see you are just dying to say

It’s just not

And Santa Claus is not a big evil pagan demon

Nor is it clever that his name almost spells Satan

He’s just a guy and a good idea

A symbol of being nice, giving to your fellow man

A part of our cultural heritage

All that jazz, don’t get so worked up

And yes, I’m cynical, and all rant-y and such

Cause I’m crusty and old and ignorance sucks

And peace is good

And so is giving

And a house divided against itself

Won’t stand for very long

POEM - Death of the Import Clerk

I've toyed around with the notion of a heart attack

A simple seizure of the life muscle

To guarantee those three or four vacation days next week

A little bed rest and some vindication

Keep work guessing about my stability and reliability

Force the imposing of a backup plan

Just in case you-know-who has another episode

Maybe they’d care then

Maybe they’d be sorry

Maybe this is a juvenile short sighted rant

Like my job and the corporate policy

Enforced by barely literate troglodytes

Who will be forced to scrub the stench of my spent carcass

From the ergonomic HermanMiller where I expire

Then of course I have never done this before

Maybe I’ll take it too far

I’ll be a vegetable or a corpse

I am prone to excess and flair

And drama and overdoing it and not thinking ahead

and pushing the buttons, and, well

Things could get out of control real quick

After all it’s just another lost Saturday

Another chance to prove I’m the only one

Who takes care of business

Rights what’s wrong

Is striving for success

Writing another poem about the great state of suck

and the supporting structure thereof

I’m an enabler and for that I apologize

Every hour of overtime

Every additional weekend day

I apologize to that kid back there and back then

The one who wouldn't grow up

Who still can’t tuck in his shirt

Prefers Dr. Seuss to Dr. Phil (by about a million bazillion times)

POEM - Historical Continuity

One can talk all they want to

About the constants of history

Thump the podium in mighty oration

Put the fear of God in all of us

And still they miss the mark

It is not the fight for freedom

The indomitable spirit of man

Going with the flow

Living a purpose driven life

Or metaphysical meditation

That is the one thread

That one piece that does not change

The common link in every story

It is, in fact, the cockroach

No, really, it is, and I thought you should know

Thought it might save you some worry

You see, there is no deeper meaning

I am not presenting some concept

A smoking Kafkaesque gun

That must be shot off

Later in the story

Straight into your subconscious

To let you know that the roach lives

In each of us, it is us, and we are it

That’s not it at all, it is just a statement of fact

Everywhere and every-when there are cockroaches

In Arizona they were hard-cooked, dried out

Skittering little rock beasts, impossible to smash

In the South the pests are soaked in humidity

And smashing obliterates them to a smear of buggy goo

My grandparents said that in Mexico they covered the ceilings

Just outside their hotel door, blanched white, reflecting the light

Ever since the dinosaurs and through a nuclear war

They lurk and multiply and continue on and on

I’ve lived with them throughout my own life

In greater and lesser degrees

But I’ve always lived with them

Them, and a can of Raid