The Tansy Verses: No. 16

Are deviled eggs a metaphor?
A few are great, but less so, more?
Is mustard love and mayo stress?
The yolk a thick, symbolic mess?
If so, you’ll have to blame my mom.
She got the recipe in Nam.

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Sour has its power, true,
But sweetness fills its cheeks with you.
When sweet goes out to eat, dessert
Is you! I hope it doesn’t hurt
Too much to have your face licked off.
Your fault–you filled my sweetness trough
With floating, chunky lumps o’ you!
Resisting it’s too hard to do,
Especially when I don’t try.
I’m just a sweetness-loving guy.

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There, Kitty-Kitty!

The cat on my chest doesn’t want to be here;
She’s drawn to the two danderphobes sitting near.
On most days she’s fine pinking veins in my eyes
But she sees that my sneezes pale next to these guys’.
How does she come by this knowledge? No clue.
But believe it: If you hate my cat, she loves you.

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The Tansy Verses: No. 15

Tuesday’s child, so I’ve heard,
Is full of grace, so it’s absurd
To see you mope and hang your head
Like woeful Wednesday’s child instead.
You’re fair of face–a Monday trait–
But you were born a day too late
To earn that appellation. So
Is that how come you’re full of woe?
November 4th, when you were whelped,
Was Tuesday, so it can’t be helped:
The die is cast, so goodness gracious,
Reach down deep in your capacious
Pocket for a Brownie smile.
Let’s wipe out that frown awhile!
Sure, it’s Thursday, and I’m leaving
Friday next, but if you’re grieving
Starting now you’re going to get
Cheek wrinkles from eight days of wet.
Cheer up! You won’t regret you did:
You’re third from top of my stack, kid.

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The Tansy Verses: No. 14

Some far-off day, when cigarettes
Are banned indoors (yeah, right!), regrets
That mumble now may grumble louder…
Face them down, or take a powder?
Powder’s sounding good to me.
‘Bye, Terre Haute! Hello, D.C.!

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The Tansy Verses: No. 13

Yadda-yadda, something red
And blue that rhymes. Let’s go to bed.

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The Tansy Verses: No. 12

I hear you pacing overhead–
Your floor’s the ceiling o’er my bed–
And wonder, do you ever sleep?
What puzzles plague you? Won’t they keep?
It’s clear you’re not obsessing on
The fact that next week I’ll be gone,
Or you’d have mentioned something, right?
So what, then, keeps you up at night?
Your hotel project’s going poorly;
Maybe that’s why you’re so squirrely?
Nicotine and whiskey jags
Might force your eyes to pack their bags
As I’ve been packing mine, and yet
I haven’t smelled it in your sweat.
What makes you make nocturnal tracks? Is
It to do with income taxes?
Diet? Politics? I weep
For both of us, ’cause I need sleep!
Your pain is one I can’t ignore–
Hey, who designed your squeaky floor?
Oh, you! That’s right. I clean forgot!
As dust rains down upon my cot.
At least reroute your pacing path
To over Axel’s bed or bath,
Or, here’s another thought: Lie down!
Eight days until I blow this town….

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