The Last Thank You

Miss Manners always said
When someone does something nice for you
You should always thank them
And if you cannot in person
Send a thank you card in your stead

This I have always done
Which went well and good and proper
Until one day

I got a thank you card for my thank you card
It was intricate and hand made
Better than the one I'd sent
By at least 44 percent

This would not do!
So I sent a thank you card
Saying in no uncertain terms
That this thank you was for the thank you
To the thank you that I had sent
In thanks for the lovely lemon bundt cake
That I had enjoyed at tea with the ladies
Only a fortnight ago
In the fancy club on Main Street
Just around two o'clock on a Tuesday

This card I sent was the best I could manage
It had frills and flourishes to give a craftsman the chills
At the time and expense that it must have taken
For I am a woman of many a talent
And the world would be best not to forget that
Thank you very much

I put it in the post
And that was that

Or so I thought

For a week later
There was another thank you card
Thanking me profusely for the thank you card
That I had sent in thanks for the thank you card
That I had received in thanks for my thank you card
That I had sent in thanks for the lemon bundt cake
Eaten with gusto at tea time on a Tuesday at the club on Main

Where would this end?
I wailed and pulled at my hair
Which was a wig of great cost
So I stopped immediately

I just won't send another
I thought to myself
That will put a stop to this

And so it went
For two whole weeks
Every day of which
I stopped and I stared at the breathtaking thank you card I had last received
Until I could take it no more

And I made and sent one again
Hoping almost selfishly
That perhaps the woman had died in the interim
So that this cycle could end with dignity

With a fervent prayer to all that was on high
As I dropped the card in the Post
That this would be the last that I would ever have to send
I turned to go back to my cottage

And dropped dead on the sidewalk
My beautiful sun hat
The one with the rose colored ribbon
Fluttered down beside me

The last Thank You sent at last

Fireplug

Fireplug pulled itself free of the water main
Leaving a jagged pipe sticking up
Water fountaining in it's wake
As it hurried away to discover the world

Eight weary years later
It's fire engine red color
Now painted over and over again
With garish and intricate colors and designs
A few travel stickers from around the world
Stuck here and there upon it's body

Fireplug came to rest
In the prettiest garden it could find
Overlooking the ocean
Near a bench

Happy to just sit there forever
Staring out at the waves
Being peed on by the occasional dog

What more could a well travelled fireplug ask for

Great Chief Messypants

I really should remember her name

The three of us were in my best friend Jeff's tent
Out on his lawn under the oak trees
Jeff, this girl, and me

Jeff's dog was running amuck in the yard as usual
He was a beautiful Husky brand dog
With those ice blue eyes typical of the breed

Jeff and I were both about eight years old
I don't know how old the girl was
Maybe she was supposed to be babysitting us
Who knows after all these years

What was important
Was that she was scaring the crap out of us

"I can feel it coming
It's almost here"
She intoned to us
Giving us a look

As if on cue
The wind began blowing
The twilight sky darkening quickly
Jeff and I looked at each other
Rethinking the wisdom of a tent sleepover

She looked out the tent flap
Her long brown hair whipping in the wind

"I see him!"
She cried
"Call your dog in here
He will be taken if he stays out there"

One of us asked her who was out there
Who did she see?

She turned wild eyes upon us
"It's the Great Chief Messypants!"

I know
It takes some of the punch out when I can't remember the actual name she used for the Great Chief

Jeff was just outside the tent by then
Frantically collecting his rowdy dog

When they finally tumbled inside
I asked him if he had seen anything

He said he didn't know
Maybe

I asked if I could look

Our resident girl fixed me in her gaze

"As long as you don't look directly at him
Otherwise he will capture your spirit!"

She had put her face about two inches from mine as she said those last words

Needless to say
I about peed myself

Completely terrified
I slowly looked outside
There were leaves blowing around
And out if the corner of my eye
I thought I saw someone

I pulled my head back inside
And joined Jeff next to his dog

"You two are wise to stay close to (whatever the dogs name)"

She stood on her knees as dignified as she could in the little tent

"He will protect you from Great Chief Messypants!"

With that
She left us alone in the tent
Terrified that some crazy old Indian Chief spirit was going to steal our spirits in the night

I remember we slept
With dog between us

Every time the dog moved
We tried to hold our spirits a little tighter

Well, at least I did

And I still can't remember her name
Or even if she was real

Bad Bunnies

Poofy rabbit eyed us
From amidst it's rabbit puff
Surrounded by rabbit riches
Never satisfied with enough

A bowl of food
A water bottle as well
Maybe some Timothy hay
In a hanging basket with a bell

Bunnies are not recommended
After all they are only rodents
Of small and unusual size
With wicked sharp teeth
Within cute pink mouths
With which to rip tear and incise

I am not impressed
With the fluffy tails
Nor with silken long ears
For which the oohs and aahs never fail

It is rather cute
Though I'd never tell her that
When the white one sticks her head in a ball
Wearing it like a tiny blue rubber bunny crash hat

Mostly the bunnies stink
Seemingly pooing their own weight in pellets
Each and every day
If you think that's no big deal I invite you to smell it

At night the bunnies run around
In a white and grey dervish whirl
Bouncing off the sides of the cage
Yelling bunny curse words
Wicked enough to make my beard curl

I'm not sure what they hope to accomplish
With this nightly activity
Maybe some mad scientist bunny told them lies
That doing so would release them from captivity

When they sleep all stretched out nose to toe
Their little whiskers atwitch
Dreams running through their bunny heads
Perhaps that's exactly what they dream of
Escaping in a centrifugal bunny explosion
Of cage parts poo and rabbit feed
Creeping in to my darkened bedroom
Lighting upon my heaving chest as I snore
Staring me down and whispering in hushed bunny tones

"Nevermore"

Tiny Turtles

The simplest answer is always the most correct
That's why I went with the tiny turtles

Breeding them down that small wasn't really that hard
Just took a lot of time
I went with painted turtles
As they seem to be the smartest
And are happy in a liquid environment

Generation after generation of painted turtle
Got smaller and smaller in my lab

I was training them too as I went
Not that they could pass that on
No
But to breed in intelligence as well

Finally
Six years after I started
I had my smart tiny turtles

There were problems though
I won't lie
At first, they kept on drowning
As there wasn't any air under the membrane

What's that?
You want to know about the membrane?
I'll get to it

The solution of course was total liquid ventilation
I simply used conditioned perfluorocarbon
Instead of plain water

After learning how to breathe the liquid
The turtles were happy enough I assure you!

The training of the tiny turtles was a bit challenging
But with the judicious use of electrical prompts
I was able to get my desired results

As I've clearly laid out
I have crafted a changeable braille tablet!

You see
The tiny turtles interpret the electrical signals
And move into formations underneath the membrane
Forming the braille writing
Isn't it marvelous!

There is one small snag
Though I think people will get past it
Whenever the unit is powered down
The tiny turtles always revert to a familiar pattern

One that spells out:

"Please help us. We are being held prisoner inside this device"

Perhaps I bred them a bit too smart

Moping Bench

Moping bench moped
Bringing down everyone around

Little boys with cowlicks
Little girls in pigtails
Men in high and tights
Women in beehives

Moping bench was having a right good depression

The townsfolk banded together
Determined to improve the bench's lot in life
Moving it to a sunny meadow
Near a creek where fish sparked in the light

Moping bench took in his surroundings for a bit
And decided that things definitely could be worse
So thence being known by the folk of the town
As the Just About But Not Quite Happy With Life Bench

An Illusion of What Was

The lake is still beneath it's inches thick covering of ice
It is early March after all
The orange snowfence on the beach blights the view somewhat
But not too much

The stones beneath my butt are cold
The kind of cold that won't go away
That will seep up into you as you sit
Until you get up moving like the old man you are becoming

Beneath those paving stones is the concrete seawall
The seawall that your grandfather poured himself
Some sixty plus years ago
Somewhere down there
Underneath the blown in sand and light coating of snow
Is your mother's initials and the year it was set
She was about ten years old

I'm sitting on what looks like a stoop facing south
From the front of an old brownstone building
Sort of
It's a set of steps with walls jutting alongside them
I like to sit here on the wall on one side or the other
Usually dependent upon where the sun is

At the top of the stairs
On either side
Are two lampposts
Originally black they are now white
With fancy little tops on them for the lights

There is a sidewalk leading up behind me
To the house
This is an old concrete walk covered in newer pavers
Much like the ones on the steps

All this that I've described
Is all that is left

And sitting here I can almost pretend that it is as it was
My back to reality
The steps and beach much the same as they always have been
I can deny what really is

Until I have to go back inside
And turn around
Reality not what the faded picture in my mind is at all

Grandfather's cottage just a wispy mirage
Batted away with the turn of a head