Fat Tuesday

Gras means “fat” and Tuesday’s Mardi;
Carnival’s a massive party
Where, for fear of Lenten rigor,
People’s appetites grow bigger.
Tuesday’s fat because it’s eating
Everything it might be needing
From tomorrow ’til the Bunny
Comes on Easter. What’s not funny
Is how many empty bellies
Can’t indulge in sweets and jellies
Or a simple slice of bread
Today—they’ve spent their cash instead
On shelter or a tank of gas.
The only way that pain will pass
Is if community Food Banks
Can help them out, so let’s give thanks
That almost all of us can say
We won’t be struggling today
To feed our children or ourselves,
And help the Food Banks restock shelves
Stripped bare each day by famine’s greed.
That’s worth a Carnival, indeed!

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Spare The Claw

My cat does not forgive, but she
Won’t rouse herself to punish me
Despite the reprimands I earn.
In consequence, I never learn.

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Forward Progress?

I was there for 22–
Or what they called ecks-ecks-eye-eye
In ancient Rome–and then, as you
No doubt recall, was when that guy
With skin the shade of Newton’s trounced
The golden boy from Mile High
By 32. Such great amounts
Of racist irony! Oh, my.

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My Process

It happens every now and then:
I’ll thumb a couple phrases in
On this device (a Samsung phone)
While I’m relaxing home alone.
I have no expectations or
Ideas what the words are for
Besides a way to pass the time
And then, by some weird chance, a rhyme
Appears upon my digi-screen
And like an e-Jack’s magic bean
A poemstalk erupts and grows
Fantastically to– where it goes
Is just as far beyond my ken
As cloud-geese in a giant’s pen
Extruding golden eggs on cue…
I just press “Post.” That’s all I do.

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Hello, it’s me.
Oh, hi.
I won’t be in today.
‘Kay. Why?
Why what?
Why aren’t you coming in?
It’s just a conference call.
Bye, then.

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Go To Hades, Aedes!

It’s getting hard to justify
Mosquitoes. I’m a patient guy,
An advocate of second chances,
But that non-judgmental stance is
Not so easy to maintain
As one would wish when baby’s brain
And undeveloped skull are shrunk
Because some Zika virus punk
Of a mosquito tasted Mama.
Bite me, skeeters! ‘Scuse the drama
And the language, but I’m peeved. You’re
On the hook for Yellow Fever
And malaria, so what’s
The deal with Zika? Darn your butts!

It breaks my live-and-let-live rule,
But microcephaly’s not cool
And I’m not feeling that forgiving.
If mosquitoes just stopped living
I’m not sure I’d shed a tear;
I might be more inclined to cheer!
Think I’ll change my mind? Good luck.
That’s how I feel: Mosquitoes suck!

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Clean Cat

A clean cat is a happy cat
Unless you made the cat like that
Against her greasy, filthy will
She knows she needed it, but still…

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