Lord Save Me

After a downpour, the Stetson disintegrated into an ill-formed mess. The cowboy set it on the hatter’s counter. “A replacement. Free.”

In a nasal tone, the fastidiously dressed clerk said, “No guarantees.”

The cowboy pulled out his gun. “This here’s my guarantee.”

“This here’s my answer.”

The cowboy’s gun flew from his hand. He hit the basement floor. Ominously, a trap door snapped shut above him. Blood trickled from his head.

The place smelled worse than the stockyards. In the dim light he saw sewing machines and skeletal workers manning them. Lord, oh Lord, what had he gotten himself into?

Mistress Minna’s Comb

Chug-a-chug, chug-a-chug, down the track they go.
On a kind of mission bent.
Lickety-splitly off they went
Some would say they’re heaven sent.
Here is what I know.

Mistress Minna was a nymph, a beauty so they said.
In a tree she kept her comb,
Ancient heirloom made from bone.
One fine morning she intoned,
“Guards, a thief has fled.”

Sure enough the comb was gone; thief fled on the train.
So they followed on the track.
Tried to get the bone comb back.
Gantry singing clicky-clack,
Pumping in the rain.

Tracks were damaged in the storm. 
They caught him.

Bunnies and Baskets

Easter eggs are piled sky high,
Dollar each they run.
Once a year, “Splurge,” we cry,
One for all, and all for one.

Bunny chocolatiers we are,
Upright on our legs.
Melt the chocolate from the bar;
Shape it into tasty eggs.

Eggs that nestle side by side
In shiny, foil wraps.
In wicker baskets they reside,
Excited bunnies, fill and clap.

All night long, bunnies create
Goodies for the kids.
Out you come, don’t be late,
Searching, finding where they’re hid.

Children wearing chocolate smears,
Tummies, tongues, at rest.
Bunnies done until next year.
Satisfied they’ve done their best.

Radish, Rabbits, Rapping Redux

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Rapping rabbits, reaping radish,
Ruddy, spicy, earthy, raffish.
Crunchy red, dicey tribe,
Nibbles, wiggles, saucy vibe.

Hey, yeah, whatcha saw,
In the garden, giant maw.
Open, rapping, tails snapping,
Radish beat and bunny dapping.

Dig it, dig it, from the soil,
Dig that radish, toil, toil.
Little claws feed little maws.
Eat the beat, cure the blahs.

Hey haw, whatcha saw?
Peter Rabbit in a brawl,
Fists be punchy, throw a paw.
Gonna call em, call the law.

Sirens sound a red alert.
Sirens scream one damn loud blurt.
Leave the fields, hop the fence,
Dude don’t owe no recompense.

When Life Gives You Lily Pads…

It was Aaron’s first Frogs to Princes convention. He’d found the event in an advertisement in the Pond Courier. Lectures ranged from “Curse Avoidance” to “Sounding Suave With a Frog in Your Throat.” He needed a laugh. He’d been desolate since his fairy godmother had been unable to reverse the spell that turned him into a frog.

The hall buzzed with the upper crust, royal accented croaks of enchanted frogs. All were princes. He started counting and quickly decided that there were more frogs than eligible princesses. A pragmatist, Aaron decided to find a lady frog and start a family.

Earthly Delights

Circe daydreamed under an oak tree that grew on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Her pet pig, Ulysses, dug truffles while she watched the sunset roll in. The truffles smelled woody, fresh, and clean. She felt wise when she nibbled them, almost as if she’d lived on the island for centuries.

She had thought she might live forever, cloistered from humankind. Young, tech rich, cranky, and prone to fits of passionate revenge, solitude suited her until she longed for company. Her TikTok video advertising island paradise dream homes went viral. Ulysses, in a straw hat, held an open house sign.

To Hell and Gone, Revised

Graduation night, Persephone and her girl band rocked out in the high school cafeteria. Glittery sequins covered her jacket like chain mail. She was young, it was spring, life was good.

But spring turned to winter when Persephone quenched her thirst with a fruity punch at intermission. Her head spinning, she stepped outside. That hellhound from the shooting range who was always trying to get into her pants appeared.

Blame it on the punch; she followed him. Her mother, a social influencer, raised the alarm. Millions searched. The gods got involved. When the two returned, her mother gave him hell.

(Apologies, it’s been hard to keep up this week.)

To Hell and Gone

Graduation night, Demeter made punch. Her daughter, Persephone, washed glasses and when they got to the auditorium, she set them out on a table where a senior class picture was displayed. Persephone was in the center of it all because spring was her season.

But spring turned to fall, then winter when Persephone’s boyfriend texted. Was he in on it? When she stepped outside, there was that hellhound from the shooting range who was always trying to get into her pants.

Blame it on the punch; she followed him.

When they returned, her mother sent him to hell and back.

Some Things I Remember

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There are things you tell me before you die. Hurricane fears, the way rain scares you, bad dreams. You regret giving up your apartment. You miss seeing dolphins from your window on the bay. The view in assisted living is more limited.

But you have memories. Paris, London, Istanbul, Beijing. You toured the Galapagos. A birthday treat from Richard. Doesn’t he need you in the apartment? Sadly no, I say.

Some things survive. You remember a sweet sixteen necklace from your father. The jewelry that was your mother’s. Richard’s mobiles and guitars. Mexican crockery. Still, some things you don’t recall.

April Fool

He was up for mischief. A pint up. He twigged a flash of green, nothing but a fairy glimmer out from the woods at break of dawn. Then again, he reckoned ‘twas twilight. That might serve the little people better, twilight when shadows run deep, twilight when souls slip between worlds and mischief is abroad.

That second pint of ale overcome him. He could do anything now. Lift the world on his shoulders and take it for a ride. Find his true love. She’d encouraged him, green eyes, there on the barstool. But was it real, or was it blarney?

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