Checklist

Trumpet;
Mouthpiece;
Music stand;
Kerchief for my oily hand;
Cup and straight and harmon mute
(Plus pixie if they want it cute);
Oil (for the valves);
And grease (to help those sticky slides release).

First rehearsal of the year
And everything I need is here!
Raise the bell and let ‘er rip:

Blaaappp!!

Oh, crap.
Forgot my lip.

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A Failure Of Imagination

“We can’t have nice things, and this is why.”
I missed the explanation, but I know
It’s something that I’ve done, or something I
Should want to do but don’t. But even so,
The part that I don’t understand is this:
What makes you think the things we have aren’t nice?
Perhaps our home is not a pond of bliss,
But it’s clean, safe and warm, which should suffice.
If luxuries are what you’re looking for,
I get that. Now and then it’s nice to splurge
On something that meets all your needs and more,
And there’s a rush from following that urge.
I understand, but don’t know what to do.
I can’t conceive of wanting more than you.

Pansy

Pansies are the perfect pet.
They rarely make the carpet wet
And if they ask to go outside
They’re happy there until they’ve died.

Park a pansy by the pool
It waits until you’re home from school
And if you have a game that day
It doesn’t pout while you’re away.

Pansies, too, are seldom picky.
Wet food makes their stamens sticky;
Water’s all they really crave.
Just think of all the cash you’ll save!

Practicing your slide trombone?
With Pansy there you’re not alone.
Mortal Kombat days on end?
The pansy’s cool, and still your friend.

Put your pansy in the sun
And look at it. All day. What fun!
Read your pansy’s horoscope
Out loud to it (it gives it hope).

Cats and dogs and even ferrets
Next to pansies can’t compare. It’s
Pansies here (holds hand up high)
And all the rest (chops lower thigh).

Don’t like pansies? That’s all right.
I’ve no dog-flower in this fight.
You can choose a loser, long
As you can live with being wrong.

Pansy, pansy, pretty plant,
I’d quit you, but you know I can’t.
Stigma, style, ovary:
Sex for you means Love for me.

Pizza, whether cold or hot,
Is tasty, but a pansy pot
Is so darn sweet it’s nearly creepy!
Got to go now. Pansy’s sleepy.

Press “Insect” To Continue

The ants live in my laptop, which I hardly have to say
Is balanced on my lap (on top) ’cause that’s the only way
That I can reach the keyboard comfortably, which I’m not
Because the ants get agitated when their laptop home gets hot.
It’s ultimately all my fault: I thought it said Insert.
Read carefully the keys you press, or someone could get hurt.