Circadian Arrhythmia

Morning fog’s a curious
Phenomenon, mysterious
And awful: When the nights are blending
Into days, they’re never-ending.
PJs worn to work is creepy?
Sorry. If it’s dark, I’m sleepy!
You don’t like it, blame the sun
And cat-pawed banks of fog. I’m done.



It’s tough to watch the news these days.
Seems everyone we’d thought to praise
On Saturday, by Tuesday morning’s
Featured in the Creepo Warnings
That now merit brief reports
On every newscast: Traffic, Sports,
The Weather, and Misogyny.
It can’t be only on T.V.
Behind the eyes within this room
Surprises hide and crises loom
But I know how to deal with that:
Deny, and lie, and blame the cat.


I have a pack of cats at home;
I wish I hadn’t got ’em.
Their dander hair is everywhere,
I’m hives from top to bottom.
I always keep my promise, though,
So what else could I do?
I said, If Donald Trump’s elected
I’ll start grabbing pussies, too!

So Many Questions

How old was the lady? And what kind of shoe?
How many kids is too many? Ten? Two?
Broth doesn’t often have bread as a side
(Maybe crackers). Did pointing that out hurt her pride?
And even when walloping children was cool
I assume she’d need motive. Did someone cut school?
Had she drawn a line that they, as one, had all crossed?
And why just one shoe? Was the other one lost?
Was the old lady even the mom? What’s her status?

(Psst! I’m not the one asking questions. My cat is.)