Foot Ball

The penguin took my meatball
But I won’t have him arrested.
He only wants to play with it,
As he himself’s attested.
He’s practicing for fatherhood:
He keeps it on his feet
For warmth and its protection.
After practice, then I’ll eat.

Good Night, Sweet Prince

“Hey, William Shakespeare’s dead! It’s in the news!
“I know. He died four hundred years ago.”
“No, I don’t think so. You’ve got him confused
With someone else. This one wrote Romeo
And Juliet.
We saw that just last week!”
“That’s who I mean. ‘The Bard of Avon,’ right?”
“Um, yeah, that’s what it says. How– did you peek?”
“What? No! Why would I?”
“Maybe just for spite.”
“But what would be the point? That makes no sense!”
“Is someone targeting celebrities?”
“Celebrities? You’ve lost me…”
“First, there’s Prince,
Now Shakespeare. Don’t they always die in threes?”
“That’s just an urban legend. Anyway,
That’s only–”
“P.L. Travers!”

Where We Belong

When choosing sides today, no doubt
We’re siding with the one that’s out,
But climate change will surely win
‘Til we start spending less time in.
The planet that we’re living on
Would likely rather we were gone
The way a dog beset by fleas
Might ask its human, “Bathe me, please?”
We’re not the best of tenants, true.
We’re messy, and we’re greedy, too.
Your hospitality, dear Earth,
Is infinite, as is your worth.
We don’t deserve you. All the same,
We hope you’re not too sad we came.
As Richard Gere said years ago,
“[We] got no place else to go!”