Lousy Poem

I wrote a lousy poem today. I should have just done my laundry and taken a nap. But no, Mr. Literary Gravitas had to create something moving. The only thing that this poem moves is my lunch in my stomach. I have blasphemed the English language.
I tried turning it sideways without improvement. Flat passages, cliches, bad line breaks. I called fellow poet Ronald and read it over the phone. Sounds of regurgitation. Then he hung up. And Ron is compassionate.
Another poet friend told me to send it to the Word Scrapheap Institute in Philly so they can use it as a teaching aid.
Sighing, I collected my laundry and fed it to the washer while reading my poem aloud. A voice came from the machine.
You're NOT going to toss that mess in here with us, are you?

Roadie Blues

I was a roadie for Bruce for over 40 years. I started unconsciously imitating him. I squinted a lot and my voice got raspy. He was such a force.
But as time went on, he toured less and less. I should not have been surprised when I got my layoff notice, but I was shocked. A way of life gone in a moment.
I had to go out and find a new boss. Well, it didn't take me long. She can be brusque and shrill. Wears those out of style pants suits.
My job is to make sure her phone is charged and her ever present husband isn't rubbing people the wrong way. He's very hands on.
Bruce called the other day. I let it go to voice mail. He's a dynamic performer, but I have a chance to go to the White House with this one. I do find my voice sounding shriller than before.

Jung Arm Wrestler

Jung got drunk at a bar and challenged me to arm wrestle. I barely knew the guy, but I'd had a few drinks and agreed. Unlike Freud, who I beat handily, Jung had powerful arms and an iron grip. I knew he could humiliate me in front of the whole place, as patrons gathered around.
If I had just gotten up and walked out no one would have known. Well, I would have known. So we found an empty table and locked grips. Hemingway winked at me. What the hell did that mean? James Joyce stood behind Jung, which, I suppose, meant he was backing him. Maybe bets were on the line. Before we began, Faulkner threw up in the corner. Jung gave me a steely glare. Someone yelled Go! and we went at it. Five, six, eight minutes back and forth, shouts of encouragement ripped the air.
After ten minutes a draw was called. People got bored watching us and returned to their drinks.
This was a memory I'd have to confront. I made an appointment with him the next day to analyze my dreams and maybe have a drink with my unconscious self.

Polypfind

There is a new search engine--polypfind, which can locate polyps in anyone within a five mile radius. It lists number, size and type.
For a fee, Wally promised these people he would share their polyp information. This worked for nasal and colon ones. One could determine who needed sinus surgery and colonoscopies. Of course a good ENT person could go into the nose with a polyp popper laser and solve the problem in seconds.
Cystfinder, another new search engine, was not quite as popular because cysts were not as disgusting as polyps.
Should people buy their own polypfinder search engine? The problem was Frito Eisenberg, its creator suffered from headaches and only created ten. None were for sale.The polyp sufferers envied the cyst people as you might expect.
Wally was lucky enough to own an Eisenberg Model 1700 Cystfinder engine on his laptop. If he could afford a three D printer, he would duplicate it and live happily ever after.

Night Noogies

Eliot Feeble's apartment was infested with Night Noogies. Scientists think they originated in Australia, but that didn't help him one bit. He could  not sleep while they came out of tiny holes and crawled all over him. He couldn't have guests over. His girlfriend quit him after she discovered some on her sweater when she got home.
He had only one choice--call Mabel Castemondo, the Noogie Destroyer. For  fee, she arrived wearing her Noogie Retardant suit and wielding a high tech flame thrower. Before she began her annihilation process, she ordered Feeble off the premises. Then she went to work. It took hours. Neighbors swore death was occurring there, and, indeed,  the destruction was brutal.
Feeble now lives a normal life in comfort. But the hunter part of him misses swatting those pesky invaders with a double wide fly swatter. His girlfriend remains infuriated. She demands to see the dead Noogies.

Sound Bites

As I grow older, I'm less feisty and argumentative. My sound bites have changed. They are more like sound nibbles.
I used to spout things like--You're ignorant. Shut up and listen to me. Been there, done that. Tell me something I don't know.
Now I mouth phrases like--Good point. I never thought of that. That's an interesting slant.You really have your facts straight. Can I get you a cup of coffee?
Even my tone and delivery have mellowed. It's been months since I've thrown a punch. I just realized no one follows my advice, cares about my opinions or respects my world view.
I need to revitalize by jumping into an argument. Something I know lots about, like toasters.
Fool. You are toaster ignorant. That will be my first sound bite.

My Breakthrough

I am six days away from being elevated into the pantheon of  play writers.  My short play will be performed locally by Carl and Virginia, this century's Lunt and Fontaine. Their chemistry, timing, and perceptive interpretation of my text. is exquisite.
The audience will leave gasping. Critics will rave. Parties will follow. Much air kissing and gentle hugging. Finally I will get the respect I deserve.
I would not be surprised if the library auditorium burnt to cinders from the heat generated on that stage. Carl's simmering Brando clashes with Virginia's disdainful Vivian Leigh.
Six more days. In the meantime I will get my laundry done. And wait for greatness.
The play is called Errant Socks. A commentary on then crumbling values all around us.
This is why I write.

Earning Respect

Here is how I earn respect.

Use big words in long sentences.
I never laugh, only chuckle and nod.
My posture is an art form.
Long pauses while making a point.
I know cheese.
I blow my nose in a perfect handkerchief which I toss away because I always have a back up.
My back scratching leads women into tremors and soft moaning.I change my oil without losing a drop.
I offer unsolicited advice to young adults.
I can grow a gotee whenever I want.
My guacamole dip will make you gasp.
Just watch me change lanes.
All my cummerbunds are silk.
No one can lick an ice cream cone with my panache.
I can spell panache..

Molecule Madness

Something is wrong with my molecules. I reach for the butter and grab the cole slaw. I put my shoes on the wrong feet--other people's feet. I hum the pina colada song in the confessional.
People are avoiding me. I believe rogue molecules have invaded me. I think they came from my friend John who also has been feeling off.
Why me? Who knows? I've decided to wait it out and see what develops. My own molecules have been influenced by these invaders. Last night I tried eating macaroni and most of it wound up inside my ear. Why is life so complicated?

Mournful Cry in the Night

When Cameron discovered his broker was cheating him, he devised a plan of punishment. He waited for the thief one night as he pulled into his driveway. Cameron pounced with a chloroform drenched rag over the man's face.
Alan, the broker, found himself tied to a tree in the woods. Cameron opened a back pack full of books. Now you will learn the meaning of suffering, he promised.
He began reading as Alan's mournful cries filled the night.
He read from Twilight People--Switchblade Stories 1 by Joe Del priore
He had not even completed that tome before Alan passed out from the pain. The woods were quiet. Cameron would wait until the bastard regained consciousness and then proceed on to Volume 2. He hoped he didn't kill any innocent animals in the process.

Loose and Light

My poultry are getting too fat. Maybe I keep them penned in too much without exercising. I called in Boris, known for his farm animal exercise programs. He lined up all my chickens and turkeys and ordered push ups and sit ups. We need to do some serious core work, he barked.
Ernie, my rooster, sat it out with a groin pull. Probably fooling around in the hen house. I believe Boris when he claims inside a month they'll be lean and mean.
My wife objects. She feeds the pigs and goats and doesn't understand different species need a different approach.
I had a beer right in front of my exhausted poultry. I do have a sadistic streak.

The Adventurer

Eddie was restless. The tribe had established itself in this region for eons. He wanted to see what else was out there. Others felt uncomfortable with change. He was ordered to stop complaining and accept the status quo.
In the middle of the night Eddie sneaked away with minimal supplies. He wanted adventure and discovery. He walked and walked through dense undergrowth and barren areas. Moist, smelly land, followed by dry flaky outcrops. Everything was new. He had gone completely across this egg shaped terrain by day's end.
He needed to rest one night before trekking back to the tribe.
The next morning he awoke to a shock. A loud whirring sound. Suddenly the dense underbrush vanished and he was exposed to the sun and elements. Nothing but barren land as far as he could see.
What has happened? What has become of my tribe? Am I all alone in the world?
The shock left him paralyzed.

 Joe stood by the elevator as Steve approached. Nice haircut, Steve commented. I did it myself, Joe said. I like it short like this. I used  professional barber kit. See, I was getting this itching across my scalp and now it is gone.
What a relief.

Twelve Siblings

There were 12 of us living in a three bedroom apartment. Our parents simply gave up and left. We were behind on the rent and running out of food. None of the oldest of us could find a job.
We held a meeting. Solutions were difficult. Mostly, we needed food.
The 15 year old twins mentioned a caring, compassionate teacher. Mr. Halliday.
I wondered if they could convince him to come visit us for dinner.
But we do not have enough food for ourselves, they protested. I paused. Does this teacher have anyone who would miss him? I asked. They shrugged. Describe him.
Well, he's kind of stocky, in his early thirties.
Meat on his bones, I asked. They nodded.
The twins somehow convinced him to come for dinner.
Truthfully, I'm not even sure the oven still works. I suppose I should test it. But first I need to get hold of some chloroform.

Water and Dirt

George prided himself on seeing things others missed. His home was surrounded by water. Dirt lined the shore. When it rained he analyzed the drops and realized they were of the same composition as the surrounding water.
Something mysterious happened to the dirt when it rained. The same thing that happened to the dirt on shore. He stayed up all night examining the change in composition. He did the calculations. He created an equation. It worked! Now everything made sense.
He ran through the village shouting he had unraveled the mystery.
I have discovered mud! he cried.
The others shrugged and went on with their day. George's wife made him a tuna salad sandwich. That always calmed him. Now he needed to find a use for mud and they would be rich.
This was years before someone discovered exfoliation.