My pets are not alarmed tonight
They’ve graduated from the fright
The 4th incited every year
From all the bombs ignited here
Along our street and overhead
They’re sleeping ‘neath the flowerbed
Behind the house in soundless bliss
I miss them, but they don’t miss this
Finding things is always fun.
Okay, not always: When a gun
Appears as a metallic hole
To Hell before your eyes, the ‘ol
Adrenal gland kicks in, it’s true,
But that might not be fun for you.
Amend that statement, then, to say
Non-fatal things can make your day
When they by you are stumbled over:
Favorite books; a four-leaf clover;
Crumpled bills in jacket pockets;
Bins of Grandpa’s model rockets;
Pups that wandered off last night
And gave the clan a mighty fright;
Things like that are fun to find
(But not so much the other kind).
Today I made a modest haul:
Two dimes, a high-heeled leg a doll
Discarded in the swimming pool,
And time to sit and read. That’s cool.
Ostriches have giant eyes
And scaly legs with bony thighs
And fluffy wings (they’re just for show).
What they don’t have is head-holes, though.
When ostriches feel put-upon
They don’t believe you’ll think they’ve gone
Because their heads are ducked in dust.
That’s just a myth; you shouldn’t trust
What cartoon tropes purport to teach.
Whilst doing headstands on the beach
They’re quite aware they’re still in view
Despite the fact they can’t see you.
A ten-foot bird is panicked? Please.
It’s probably just lost its keys,
‘Cause ostriches don’t fly, they drive,
So they need car keys to survive
In Charles Darwin’s Fitness Pit.
And if that sounds a teensy bit
Far-fetched, it’s still much less absurd
Than terror from a ten-foot bird.
A week into the brand new year
I don’t yet know what I should fear
The most: That things don’t live up to
What I expect, or that they do.
The way the first week greeted us
Was fiery and furious,
And that’s okay, but 51
More weeks like that might be less fun.
Will we survive the entropy
To which all systems tend? We’ll see.
One thing’s for sure: When 45’s
The guy in charge, then chaos thrives.
There’s something small and brown and wet
I’ve not identified as yet
Behind the curtain in the shower
It’s been there at least an hour
While there’s nothing I can prove
I swear I saw the sucker move
When I came in and first sat down
I ran the tub to make it drown
But couldn’t reach to plug the drain
And now I’m stuck–I can’t explain
Except to say my cheeks are red
And both my upper thighs are dead
I’ll hide here till it’s safe to go
I wish I’d brought a sandwich though
Most things are simpler to say than to do.
Unless there’s a crowd.
And they’re staring at you.
Another Tuesday’s done, and we’re
Not quite immobilized by fear
Nor yet extinct from radiation.
That’s a win in MAGA Nation!