Month: September 2023

Follow-up Questions for a MAGA Senator Concerning a Looser Dress Code in the Capitol

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– Sir, you have said that your peeps respect the “building,” the Senate, and the dress code should reflect that. Care to comment on the deer horns guy? January 6? He broke in. He was convicted of felony obstruction after sitting on the Senate dais encouraging rioters.

– Let’s just say, tourists can wear what they want. It’s a free country.

– But does it show respect, sir?

– Well, within our community, far right Republicans, free to dress and act is a cultural imperative that I am not in a position to judge.

Now, excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable.

Doomsday Clock

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Sun and rain ravage her wind tossed hair,
jet black strands smooth as onyx glass.
Silken threads like kitten's fur, 
new as morning dew on grass. 

A child, yet grown, eyes intent, 
round with wonder, bright with fire. 
Her night brings monsters, malcontents 
wreaking havoc in dreamland's mire.

Ruled by demons dangerous dark,
audacious lies we can do without.
Perdition's putrid stench arises 
ignoring famine, flood and drought.

An omen for tomorrow? 
Resist the slippery slope. 
Stand together against oblivion, 
build barricades of hope.

The future waits. We can save one another.
Honor the Earth for she is our mother.

Love Changes Everything

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Jack came in from feeding the geese. “That golden goose, she’s laying plain old eggs.”

His mother looked up from stirring the magic bean stew. “Are you sure?”

Jack produced an egg from his basket. 

“Let’s see what’s inside.” She cracked the egg against the iron stove into a bowl. The yolk was pure gold surrounded by opals. “What about the others? Did she lay more?”

Jack nodded and pulled three more eggs from the basket. “Maybe she got with the gander.”

His mother cracked them each in turn and found rubies, emeralds and pearls. “She’s one mixed up goose.”

The Collective

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She came straight from weeding her small plot of land in the community garden.

The fiery redhead marched to the podium and gaveled the meeting to order. “The first item, the only important one, is the proposal to buy a mill to grind the wheat.”

A large man barked. “No one else grows wheat.”

The crowd quacked their approval.

Her feathers ruffled, the redhead said, “You eat the bread I bake. Let’s turn the garden into a wheat field and mill our own flour.”

A catlike woman spoke. “Hannah, dear, we thought you liked baking. We don’t.”