Sometimes, when I’ve been away,
My cat tracks me around all day
And hides my lap if I should sit–
It’s there, but cat’s all over it.
She’s very good at giving guilt,
And plays betrayal to the hilt
(If swordplay metaphors will work
With paws). The point is, I’m a jerk
For leaving her alone, but she
Is all about forgiving me.
Despite my wrongs, she’ll treat me right.
And that’s why my black slacks are white.
My novel’s underway today!
I don’t know what I want to say
Or who it’s going to be about
But I’ve got time to work that out.
The critical accomplishment–
The one that’s made the deepest dent
In banging out this wall of prose–
Is titles: I’ve got four of those!
Or, maybe five. But that’s okay,
The merrier the more, they say!
So, once I pick the bestest one,
I’m practically ‘most halfway done!
The characters, the theme, the plot,
The conflict and the setting? Not
To denigrate their value, but
That’s Who, Why, Where; I’ve got the What!
The When’s the easiest: It’s Now!
So all that’s left’s the writing….
It’s nice to have a place to go
Where fast is other places’ slow.
Big city living’s full of fun,
But I’m at home in Oregon.
USA Tri Hall of Fame
Inductees…Hey, I know that name!
And that one! Why? As I recall,
They’re just my mom and dad, is all.
Standing cramped in subway aisles
Thumb-composing lines that rhyme
And, with luck, inspire smiles…
Who’s down for the challenge? I’m!
If you’re falutin’–and, really, you ought
To falute at least once in your life, if you’ve not–
Remember: You never can have too much height.
Falutin’ is high, if you’re doing it right.
Why high, you ask? Well, Faluter One knows,
But he won’t tell the rest of us. That’s how it goes.
Talking in my sleep:
“Humans. Six of them are dead.”
Why did you freak out?
I’m out of dishwashing detergent; I stank
Up the stove; I’m commando, with rank shorts to thank.
The washing machine’s in the basement, I’m told,
But I’ll wait ’til I’m sure I’m allergic to mold,
And besides, it’s a matter of masculine pride
Not to launder ’til everything’s fit to be Tide®.
You might call me slovenly (I’ve been called worse);
It’s beyond my control. It’s the Bachelor’s Curse!
There’s nothing I love like a glass of cold water.
Well, maybe my wife and my son and my daughter,
My family, my friends, and my pets. Oh, and you.
But a glass of cold water is pretty good, too.
One more weekend halfway through.
Work week, I’ve got my eye on you!
You’re playing hard to get, I see,
But maybe that’s attracting me?
I’ll soon be back with my employer
Once this Sunday in my foyer
Does its dirty work and splits.
Weekends. Aren’t they just the pits?