Something About The Weather

Whither 2021?
Withered like the one before.
You know, that 2020 one
Of which we’ll speak fornevermore.

Our world didn’t burn as much.
That hurdle, though, ‘sbeen lowered so
That while the crossbar doesn’t touch
Our toetops, there’s not far to go.

Willamette Valley freezing rain
In February shattered trees
Thus sparing them come June the pain
Of 47 (C) degrees.

Weather records fell like sleet:
Hottest! Wettest! Strongest wind!
The good news is, if you love heat
Or cold, the climate’s now your friend.

Another happy note as well
For those to optimism tending:
We’re more acclimatized to Hell
With each year like the one that’s ending!

No doubt remains that we’re to blame
For messing with the Earth so long,
But from that fact one good thing came:
We’ve finally proved Sam Clemens wrong!

The Night Before The Night Before

Try to sleep a little more
The night before the night before
Prepare to rage or be a bore
The night before the night before
Re-read this year’s Wanna List
Check off any items missed
Re-do those you can’t resist
Be glad that challenges exist
Rest up for joys in store
About which you’ll have reminisced
Years hence when they’re your lore
You’ve dates to make and plots to twist
Your future’s waiting! Plan your tryst
The night before the night before

Same Time Next Year

The goldfish, always looking east,
Ignores me and my Chinese feast
As if it can’t remember when
I last was here. It’s me again!
The dude who orders food to go
Just once a year? Come on, you know,
The one who calls on Christmas night?
They never get the order right
So while they’re fixing it, the guy
Who meets your cold, unblinking eye
And swears he didn’t order fish?
Who promises no seafood dish
Will ever threaten pain or trouble?
Nothing. Not a blink or bubble
Indicates it knows I’m here.
No sweat. Be wet! Catch you next year.

New Traditions

The stockings aren’t hung
They’re laid out by the chair
There’s no chimney
So Santa just apparates there

The cookies are toxic to pets
And the glass
Of warm milk leaves an odor
So this year we’ll pass

The presents are under
The pipe cleaner tree
The kids have moved out
So it’s just you and me

Oh, and look at that!
Mistletoe everywhere!
See?

Consider The Sorse

My little horse must think me odd
To trust in science more than God
But horses neither write nor read:
Belief in an omniscient Steed
Whose rationale I might deem flawed
May serve an urgent equine need;
Ergo, his whinnies, snorts and kicks
Are based on faith, not politics,
Which I respect, if don’t endorse.
Not that it matters to my horse.