#181 Dreams in the Night

I remember nights

When I stared up at the stars

Following the blurry arm of the milky way

High up into the sky

Best seen when not looking directly at it

But I'd try anyways

Lying out on the old red lounge

Wrapped tight in my sleeping bag

The dew settling upon me

As I tried to stay awake

In the crisp early summer night air

Hoping to see a shooting star

Yet another thing that I often see best

From the corner of my eye

Mostly because they come and go so quick

That I'm not looking right at them

I'd fall asleep

And dream my little dreams

Of racing, flying and the like

Sometimes a really good one

Like being able to breathe underwater

That never works by the way

I've tried

Really, the whole "mind over matter" ideology

Has major flaws

You simply can't walk through a wall

Even if you refuse to acknowledge it

The wall doesn't need anyone's validation

For it to be real

I suppose it's a good lesson

When taken rightly

Not needing validation

To just be

What you are

#180 Is Trapped

I can’t get out

I figured that out after the first week

I’ve been surviving on excess ham byproduct

It keeps leaking from the joints in the machines

I don’t know what it really is

So I call it 'ham'

But it keeps me going

I found some water dripping from a pipe

About a quarter kilometer that way

It tastes sort of foul

But it hasn’t killed me

And that’s a good thing I guess

I can’t believe I got into this

I didn’t listen

Mother told me this would happen someday

Well, not this exactly, but something

And, it did

Happy, Mother?

You were right

I was on a tour

This is the largest factory in the world

16 square miles

It feeds half the world’s population

And is completely automated

There is a maintenance break every year

And that’s when they have tours

I wandered off,

Went through a one way door

And that’s how it happened

The next day, the plant started up

And I have a year to wait for help

If I could last that long

Everything is stainless steel it seems

And inches thick

All the joints are sealed with concrete

Keeps pests out

Like me

I got a label scraped off one of the pipes

I’ve written a note on it

With my trusty blue pen

I think I can slip it into one of the cans

I can see them through a hairline seam

They march by rather slowly

I know I can do it

I don’t know what else to do

I didn’t see any other labels anywhere

Here’s hoping!

*

Somewhere in Alberta, Canada

On a sunny Sunday afternoon

Six months later

Rajesh opens his can of meat

For a sandwich

And finds a note

It says:

“Help, I’m trapped in the Spam Factory……”

#179 Thinks Beautiful Nonsense

The sun sets on another day

Another way to go about things

Breathing in and out

Seeing beauty in most things

I'll not disparage the electric eel

He isn't what I'd call pretty

But he winks and he blinks

And makes the hair stand up on the kitty

Nor will I avoid the sight

Of the slug in my garden

Who wanders on a damp night

He keeps the peace, and is the yard's warden

The strange sightless worm

Things going in one end and out the other

Like all things I suppose

And just like me, it had a "mother"

The horrid black mold

Simply going about it's existence

I've seen it, and cleaned it

I love and respect it

But I wouldn't kiss it for a six-pence

My kingdom for some beautiful people

I love being around them

It doesn't bother me a whit

That I'm the only ugly one in the room

What is beauty though?

Tastes do vary

I like a woman with some meat on her bones

Though that makes some a little wary

To make my existence a little easier

I've sent away for a potion at great expense

It will warp my perceptions of such things

And as a side benefit, will keep me from getting tense.

After I quaff the potion in question

I'll look around and beauty is all that I'll see

Although if you know me, even a little

I'll probably take one look in the mirror

And spend the rest of eternity

Making love to me

#178 Now That's Some Spicy Chicken!

I’m raising some spicy chicken

I got a crate full of chicks this spring

They’re free ranging in the back yard

I’m not feeding them any unnatural thing

However

Every day

Right about noon

I wheel out my special treat cart

And start measuring with a spoon

Each hen gets a spoonful

Of some marvelously spicy stuff

They’ve grown to like it

And come a’running, never getting enough

I started out light, and with a small pile of feed

I ground up some dried Banana peppers, putting that on it

Then on to Habanero, moving to Cayenne

I’ll finish the summer at Scotch Bonnet

For the first few weeks

The chickens had the trots

They made messes of their back feathers

And I had to wash them lots

But after that

Things settled down a bit

They’d come casually for their daily dose

And it was really a hit

After special feeding time

The chickens would party down

With a disco ball and DJ

Even if they could, they didn’t have a frown

Towards the end of the day

As the peppers got out of their system

They’d settle down

And sleep deeply, the sand man didn’t miss them

If all goes according to plan

When I butcher them in the fall

I’ll have some award winning spicy chicken

Their meat will have me standing tall

I don’t see how this plan can fail

You are what you eat

From your head down to your feet

I learned that on television as a child

And there is no way that can be wrong at all

#177 Is a Token of Maturity

My gaze falls upon my little toy

The little grey lamb

She's missing a leg now

And will never walk straight again

I don't know what happened to it

Maybe some little plastic wolves

Fell upon it in the night

And she barely escaped being prey

An X-games type adventure

Involving bungee jumping hippos

Riding Motocross bikes

While eating snow cones

That would be an exciting way

To lose a leg

Although on the whole

I'd rather not

I wonder what the little grey lamb thinks

Being down one limb

Does she walk in circles?

Hopping lightly

Trying to act sprightly

In the end

She is the three legged grey lamb

Which sits upon my desk

A gift for Father's Day

From my daughter

Trying to take control

Of what she gives to me

A strange little symbol

Of her growing up

So I look at the little three legged grey lamb

With a tear in my eye

And know that it kind of means

That my little girl

Won't be my little girl

For much longer

#176 Is a Kitchen Rant

It's the damn sink again

It's dripping into the night

I can hear it's rhythmic sounds

Dripping and dropping the beat

The never ending pound

Water hitting the shelf liner

Applied over faux wood grained particle board

Long since swelled with moisture

In the Cadillac of all cabinetry

The rental special of kitchen design

Oh how I'd love to rip thee from my presence

Gut thou from my life

Throw you on a bonfire

Cut you with a knife

It's not just the sink, you see

But most things here

They were bought at a fire sale I think

Back to the K-mart cabinetry fire sale they should go

The drawers fall out

Their underpinning quite unusual

Pull them out too far

And they collapse back into the cabinet

The frown on your face at this

Is nothing compared to the smiles and laughter

That must have happened

When the demon who designed this joke

Put it down on paper

I'm breathing in and out now

Trying to calm myself

Fixing one more thing on this junk

When what I really want to do is just start over

Where exactly does one start

When one choice necessitates another?

Why put in a new sink

When the countertop needs replacing

Why a new countertop when the cabinets are worthless

Why new cabinets, when the whole layout is wrong

That wall needs to go

This wall needs to stay

The window doesn't work

The floor is swayed

I'd burn the frakking place to the ground

But then I'd just have to rebuild

In this same lot

In this same town

I've made a decision:

If you need me,

I'll be in Denver

Look for "Robert Forteax"

That will be me

#175 Is the Get Well Goat

He is a feel better goat

He brings tidings of get well

Holding cards and balloons in his mouth

He knows who sent them but will never tell

He might work for Hallmark

Or contract with FTD

I’d rather he worked for Melting Moments

And was bearing an ice cream cookie sandwich for me

Not that I’m not grateful

For all the well wishes he brings

It’s just that I have ice cream on my mind

Amongst other things

Just then, as I was thinking that

The get well goat

Turned himself to the side

And I saw he bore a saddlebag on his hide

Gesturing with his goat head at the bag

I reached out with just a hint of fright

I lifted the flap

And was giddy with delight

There inside the bag

In an insulated pocket with fancy cross stitch

Was what I had wished for

A chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich!

I hugged the goat, and couldn’t have been happier

Taking out the ice cream novelty

I broke it in half

Half for him, and half for me

We enjoyed our moment of dessert, the goat and me

I grabbed a brush to run through his fur

But he shook his head

And left in a blur

He had others to cheer

After all, he was the Get Well Soon Goat

#174 Kisses the Pretty Grindstumper

All the toe catchers

The leg breakers

The ankle snappers

The stumps in the yard

They don't stand a chance

Against my motorized beast

It turns and churns

Whizzes and whirs

Bright yellow like a school bus

Twenty seven spinning teeth

Turning like an inevitable event

At 600 rotations per minute

That's RPM my friends

Apply the gas

And the yellow beast roars

Levering it's spinning snout

Into whatever is in front of it

A big yellow hog

Looking for truffles

Under every stump in the yard

Leaving piles of dirt and wood chips in it's wake

I feed it not scraps

But refined petroleum products

Not only is it what it likes

It's what it loves

Whatever will this wonderful thing do

When all the dead dinosaurs

Are sucked out of the ground?

Will it adapt to survive?

Perhaps it will go to a museum

And stand in a static display

Of a bald fat man

Commanding it to eat his stumps

More likely it will be recycled

Into something more useful

In the brave new world

That it has cleared all the stumps from

It's metal bits scattered

Inserted into hover cars

Rocket belts

And laser pistols

The soul of the mighty yellow hog

Will survive unscathed

Of that I am as sure

As of the fact that I anthropomorphize everything

The petroleum swilling piggy

Will be rooting happily

For precious things

In the fields of stumps

That surely populate

The heaven of it's choosing

#173 Has Forgotten Something

The singing school messenger

Calling us all to class

Better get a move on chum

Or the hall monitor will have your ass

Running to beat the bell

I know I've forgotten something in my locker

So I hope like hell

I won't get called on in class

I slid into my seat

Without a second to spare

Laying out my books so neat

That maybe nobody would care

It was worming in my brain

What had I forgotten?

It was something important for sure

Looking again in my bag that it was not in

Nothing rang a bell

So I sat waiting for things to start

Looking around at friends

And an idiot who thought he was so smart

Everyone was looking at me strangely

I kept looking behind me

Thinking it was something back there

But everything looked normal that I could see

The teacher took attendance

As my name came around

I called out "Here"

She looked up at me without a sound

Her eyes grew wide

And her hand  left her side

To point nervously at her face

I was confused, it didn't look dignified

She cleared her throat

And asked me to gather my stuff

And go see the nurse

I complied, I'd had enough

I huffed out the door

And into the hall

I passed the mirror outside the bathroom

And I stopped, grabbing the wall

I realized what I'd forgotten

My face reflected in the mirror

Was missing an important thing

And explained the confusion and furor

I'd completely forgotten my nose

#172 One Has Nothing to do With the Other

I drive a Monte Carlo

Just like my NASCAR heroes on the track

But when I took it out

It wouldn’t do 200 mph

I drove it to the dealer and took it back

Just the nameplate

Is shared between

A race car and one you can buy at home

The one has nothing to do with the other

Every day I go to work

I fix things all day

But when I get home

All I want to do is play

Won’t fix the car or the fridge

I call a repairman and pay

What I do for a living

Isn’t what I do at home

I can’t explain it

The one has nothing to do with the other

I have a fancy office

With leather chairs and fine art

I sculpt celebrities faces

When I check in on them I make notes on their chart

But if I saw someone hurt on the way home

I’d take a huge detour for a start

What I do as a doctor

I do it for money

I never do it for fun or for free

The one has nothing to do with the other

Every day I work hard

Cleansing the world of impurity

I enjoy it, I feel it’s important

If people look wrong, or just not like me

I gas them, I shoot them, I throw them in the sea

At quitting time I hang up my hat

I go to Worship, I work for charity

I help little old ladies with their groceries

I kiss my wife, hug my kids, and love my family

The work that I do

You might not like it, it’s true

But I’ll be proven moral, and right, in the end.

Alas

The one, has nothing to do, with the other

#171 My Pen, My Companion

My mighty pen

I got you when you were new

Though cheap I was glad to have you

Alas, now you are almost out of blue

What shall I do

On that fateful stroke

That you finally run out of ink?

Will I make a sad death joke?

Will I throw you in the trash

Like any other used up thing

To be dumped and composted

The anonymity of compacting

Or I could make a big deal

Whittle a tiny coffin

And place you in it

Lined with white satin

I’d give a eulogy

Tear jerking and long

About how you were always there for me

How even when I lost you, I was in the wrong

That might be a little much though

I could add you to my collection of odds and ends

Sitting in my basement collecting dust in little bins

I go down there at night, to spend time with my collected friends

I could take a new pen

And swap out the ink tube

Then at least I’d still have your body

Although when I say it like that it seems creepy and rude

Ultimately when the day comes

That you’ll no longer write for me

I’ll simply put you down without a frown

And go merrily on my way

#170 Thinks of His Father

The rain

Washes away my tears

As I stand next to my father’s grave

It’s a granite bench

With his name on it

Meant for contemplation and remembering

But it’s raining

And the puddles on the bench

Aren’t conducive to sitting

So I stand

And think of what he would have done

In all those many situations

I’ve encountered

In the days since he was gone

I can’t really know what he’d think

Because I wasn’t ever sure of what he thought

I’ve learned more about him since he died

Than I ever knew of him when I could have talked to him

And that saddens me

He was taken too soon

Too soon for me to come back around

To that same level of admiration I had for him

Back when I was a child

That went away when I was a teen

And only started to come back

A few years before he died

What fools we are

Not to see what is before us

Our whole lives

All I can do now

Is stand here before his little bench

My tears mixing with the rain

#169 Just Wants a Sandwich

I want a sandwich that makes me happy

Bread that makes me smile

Cheese that melts in my mouth

Ingredients complex as they compile

But things didn’t turn out as I’d hoped

As the waitress brought my plate

I’d sipped my water patiently

Never minding that it was getting late

Looking down I peered at it tentatively

Picked it up and tested it’s weight

I tasted it carefully, and made a face

I dropped it to my plate

And searched for words for this situation

The sandwich was worse than second rate

This sandwich makes me angry

It’s filled with hate

The meat is rancid

The bread moldy

Vegetables fermented

Such sandwiches have started wars

Men have killed themselves

When confronted

With such monstrosity

This sandwich wants to eat New York

Use the Brooklyn Bridge as toothpicks

Lay waste to uptown

And lay down in downtown

This is one shit sandwich

Reeking of fecal matter

I’ll not take it anymore

I’m madder than a fucking hatter

I call the waitress over

And insist she take it back

I don’t care what they do with it

I’ll take none of her flak

The cook glares at me

When he sees the plate return

It’s a sandwich filled with fury

Things will never be the same

He charges me with his cleaver

Swinging in huge arcs

I meet him with my knives

Hovering in midair

Like the Matrix

We battle for what seems like hours

Sweat and blood mingling on the floor

Finally we both lose interest

There’s no fight in either of us anymore

The sandwich just isn’t worth it

#168 Lump, Cast Out

The ghost of the lump on my head

Cries in the night

It keeps me awake

It fills me with fright

"Why, did you leave me?"

It says

"Because you bothered me,

and you might be cancer."

I retort

The lump

Is unmoved by my logic

It clanks it's chains

Like some miniature Jacob Marley

It was my constant companion

For ten whole years

Long enough to form a bond

And to bring me to tears

If I had to answer the question;

"What happened, you bump your head?"

One more fucking time

I would have taken a razor blade to it myself

And cauterized it with a lime

Took a half an hour

And my decade's companion

Was gone from my life

Five stitches later

All sewn up from the knife

A week later

I get the report

It's not cancer

Which is the important part

What it was, I forget

We'll just call it

"A little something extra"

Still the wee lump haunts me though

My fingers search for it on my head

It whispers in my ear,

"See?  I was nothing to worry about."

"I loved you, why did you throw me out?"

I grit my teeth

And ignore it's pleas

If I think of other things

I hope to forget it was ever there

I called it many things

When I'd get that boring question

Sometimes I'd say yes, I did bump my head

Other times I'd grin

And say it was my partially developed

Conjoined twin

Watch out, he has teeth!

Sometimes I'd look grimly at the person

And tell them it was a tumor

That was the cruelest one

They'd invariably blush

And turn away

With an, "Oh, I'm sorry"

I'm over it though

I'm happy it's gone

It worried me

And annoyed me

Someday even

I might stop looking in the mirror

Searching for it with my eyes

Forgetting that it is actually gone