Category: Loss

A Quiet Morning

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Exiled to the backyard,
While inside the termite inspector inspects,
Kohnan limps to the door,
Pleads with liquid brown eyes.
He doesn’t bark; has no energy for that these days.

“He’s friendly.” 
The inspector nods. Kohnan sidles in quietly.
He’s drawn blood.
He can be protective, even with friends.
Not now. Mornings he wakes up slowly in a fog of old age.

He’s at my feet, 
Moving his head to the sound of steps in the attic.
The sun falls in patterns, 
Warms my legs, his arthritic hips.
Warmth is welcome to us both, we’re grateful spring is coming fast.

Lord Save Me

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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

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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.

The New Orders

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Inside the church, Doris found a gift shop. A number of books, hats, mugs, and crypto coins stocked the shelves. A wizened old man sat at the counter. “Can I help you?”

Doris said, “Isn’t this the unemployment office?” 

“Everyone is employed. Everyone who wants to be.”

“I was laid off. They gave me this address.”

“What about a Bible? Our thoughts and prayers are in there.” His glassy stare put her off.

“Where can I pray, then?”

”Inside, to the right. There’s a soup kitchen in the basement, too. God be with you.”

The pews were empty, but the soup kitchen was full.

MAMA’s Boys Meet 4B (B for no, 4 for dating, sex, children, marriage)

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They sloughed into DC for the inauguration. They meant to get there sooner, but the polar vortex swept down and froze the engines on their hogs. They took a bus to DC. Man, they were jazzed. Trump would “Make America Misogynist Again.” Overturning Roe was a down payment. He’d keep his promise to protect women, “Whether they like it or not.”

Tex, the organizer, noticed there were no chicks in the crowd. Ladies, way too delicate for this weather. He checked his dating app. Every woman’s profile said, “Not interested. Back in 2029, maybe.” WTF?

MAMA’s Boys- 0. 4Bs- 1.

https://www.the-independent.com/life-style/4b-movement-trump-election-win-south-korea-b2643558.html

A Doggie Solution

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I had a lover and then we split. He wanted the dog. So did I. I won that fierce argument. The ex settled for visits.

The dog was a steady companion, a good judge of character. He loved us both and told us so with sloppy licks. He sniffed the air in that doggie way that senses tension, anger, sweet innocence. He buried the bones of contention so that we could be friends.

Doggie romped, played, distracted, comforted in the language of liquid eyes and soft tongue against tear stained cheeks. Stayed close, healing pain with sweet and kind attentiveness.

The End of Empire

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Haven’t you heard? The elder statesman is packing. 
Emperor Discord is prancing to Palatine Hill in a red toga. 
He’s promised bread and circuses. 
He’s planning a retro-empire Roman regime.

After the wall comes the coliseum. 
No need to go in person. See pictures on X. 
Read the retweets. Watch Fox trust, they will not verify. 
Comedians, prepare to roast.

The joke’s on us. All the bread is meant for the one percent. 
Even now, they’re pulling up the stakes on the circus tent. 
You’ll find the performers leaving at midnight on the gravy train. 
Ticket  price: unwavering, groveling loyalty.

A Boy Lost My Glove

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Bunny tail, soft and furry warm,
The boy insisted that I keep it.
Who knows what it meant to him.
He had so little.

The boy insisted that I keep it.
The best apology he could make.
He had so little;
It seemed like a huge sacrifice;

The best apology he could make.
I told him words were enough;
It seemed like a huge sacrifice,
The guilt another blow to his fragile ego.

I told him words were enough.
Who knows what it meant to him,
The guilt another blow to his fragile ego,
Bunny tail, soft and furry warm.