Six Inches Under

Dearly beloved, I write this ode
In memory of this once-clear road
On which we went anywhere we planned—
But now, on which we can barely stand!
There’s ice beneath and snow on top;
If your car gets going, it won’t soon stop!
Too late you’ll see the danger zone;
Repair bills will kill all the cash you own.
Just trust me, the road to ruin won’t show…
But it’s there, under half a foot of snow.

Recurring Injury

You had such dreams
You meant to do so much
But it took you out of the game
You thought you recovered
You thought you had it beat
But now it’s just more of the same

Twice, thrice, four times over
Defying all logic
The bad luck returns

Over and over and over again
You thought you were healthy
Only to fall
Over and over and over again
The same thing happens
It’s over after all
For now

The Mail of the Species

Hello, Mr. or Mrs. [name misspelled]!
Your credit has been pre-approved;
One of our exorbitantly-priced vehicles
Can be yours if you hurry!
Here’s a great deal on your magazine
Subscription which expired seven months ago;
We know you didn’t mean to let it expire
And the 15 renewal notices we sent
Must have simply slipped your mind.
Every year, millions of yard gnomes are stolen;
Your monthly gift of $40 can help stop the madness.
We’re sending you this handwritten solicitation because
We desperately need you to believe we care
About you. (And your money.)
But this is a limited-time offer. ACT NOW!

Pipe Dreams

The temperature dropped
And the pressure rose;
The pipe burst open
And there she flows!

Fleeting Moments

Sometimes you think you have forever;
Sometimes it seems like time is dragging by
But it ends suddenly
Before you even realize the end has come

Moments disguised as eternity
Prove to be little more than snapshots,
Afterimages of a star gone supernova
Captured by fading memories

Everyone Knows It’s Windy

It roars through the branches of tall swaying trees
And swoops down your neck till your nether lands freeze.
The chills make you reach for your mittens and long johns
But still, you turn blue like a nude in the Yukon.
You don scarves and ski masks, fur parkas and ear muffs,
Then shoehorn your feet into thick fuzzy mukluks;
The trembling won’t stop! ‘Cause there’s no place to hide
When the winter wind‘s swirling and you’re stuck outside.

Hors d'Oeuvres

Don’t recognize the word? It’s those little finger foods you get before the main meal and it’s pronounced something like or-DURVZ.

It’s what those hungry French folk call
A tasty dish that’s finger-lickin’…
But here in the southern USA
We call that Colonel Sanders’s chicken.

Scrambling Eggheads

They had it all planned
From the top to the bottom
But they wanted too much
And look what it got ‘em!
Their schedule’s way too crowded now
And, for all their brains, they don’t know how
To get this project done on time—
Sometimes being too smart’s a crime!

Bright

Squinty eyes
It gives me squinty eyes
‘Cause it’s bright
So bright it hurts
It’s a summer day in February
And it’s great
It’s been so gray so long, sooo long…
So long, gray
‘Cause it’s bright
And I’m squinting for joy

Dimples

In case you don’t know: The dimples on a golf ball control its aerodynamics, allowing it to fly straighter… or so manufacturers claim.

Despite great advancements in dimple arrangement,
My shots and the fairway remain in estrangement.
Though ballmakers say, “To straight shots we’re committed…”
My golf ball still curves out of bounds when I hit it.

Night of the Living Dad

It’s dark outside.
He stumbles from the bedroom, barely awake,
Lurching awkwardly down the hallway
To the bathroom.
His constant bump, bump, bump against the wall
Wakes the kids, who run out to greet him:
“Daddy, Daddy!”
His mouth moves but the grunts
Are a bad overdub from a Japanese monster flick.
He blindly swipes at them but
They just giggle and dodge.
After he’s done, he staggers back to bed,
The kids staggering and grunting behind him.
He wakes up in the morning,
His shuffling journey forgotten…
But he still can’t figure out
How the kids wound up in bed with him.

After the Stupor Bowl

Early morning pregame show
Began but I was moving slow.
Picked up speed throughout the day
As every channel had their say.
The pizza came before the game.
(We ate it but the crust was lame.)
The national anthem made us weep;
By gametime we were half asleep.
The first half was a game of chess
And Katy should have worn MUCH less
At halftime! We were getting tired;
A shot of caffeine got us wired
So we could watch the second half.
New England had the final laugh
But not before our eyes got glazed;
We crashed before the final plays.
I woke up, twisted in a knot—
My neck is sore, my back is shot.
My dream day wound up in the pits…
I waited all year long for THIS?