Fly Paper

My husband is industrious
He always knows what's good for us
When our home the flies invaded
From a swatter he upgraded
Hit the local hardware store
Bought some zappers and some more
Fly tape was the most exciting
To the flies it was inviting
Sticky hanging gooey snare
Caught my long and curly hair
Hanging up above my bed
Fourteen dead flies overhead
Insect graveyard in my face
There's that pencil I misplaced
Gruesome string decked out in flies
Some take half a day to die
Though it's ugly as can be
Fly tape keeps them off of me

Creamer With Coffee

My husband is a fan of joe
But alone he thinks it’s slow
Quart of creamer in your cup
Guaranteed to wake you up
Who needs caffeine when there’s sugar
Two-thirds sucrose makes it gooder
Salted Carmel is so sweet
With some coffee would be neat
He likes to cruise the dairy aisle
Boring nonfat ain’t his style
Irish Cream or Butter Cookie
This is not for coffee rookies
Happily he starts to pour
Doesn’t stop adds more and more
Super-charged propulsion system
Countdown starts this is a mission
Hope you have some tooth insurance
Take-off soon the pad has clearance
Rocket fuel mixed while I sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
As I lay in bed in slumber
Inbound with my mug he lumbers
One eye open see it coming
Chocolate Mocha up and running
But like nitro it’s short-lived
Stores of insulin deprived
When the sugar high wears off
Rocket engines start to cough
Must abort and turn around
I’m about to hit the ground
To the rescue have no fear
Jug in hand the hubby’s near
Creamer scrambled just in time
Level off then start to climb
Fill the tanks up in mid-flight
On I go up out of sight

Gorilla Tape

This afternoon I fixed my entire screen door with it (and a few screws). It looks like shit but what can you do just before payday?

Gorilla tape
There’s no escape
Like superglue
It sticks to you
Hard to unroll
It I extol
Does everything
Its praise I sing
Will fix your door
And even more
Get super-wide
From side to side
Get black or blue
It’s up to you
Red Green’d be proud
Be on a cloud
It’s worth its weight
Will fix a gate
Not for your hair
Is for a chair
I fixed my screen
I am the queen
Gorilla tape
There’s no escape

Ant Invasion

I’m stealing some stuff from my other blogs. We have ants – lot’s of ants here so I wrote this during one of the “invasions” we’ve had to deal with.

Ant Invasion

Crawling on my countertop
Sugar ants they just won’t stop
From the ground they formed a line
Up the stairs they climbed and climbed
In the door across the floor
Saw them, freaked, and slammed my door
Didn’t work they went beneath
Thousands marching past my feet
Mix the borax, sugar, water
Ant buffet go get the swatter
On the glasses plates and pans
Swarming on my noodles, cans
Every bit of food’s a target
Vacuum over under carpet
Vinegar is my new friend
Bring their ant trail to an end
In the bedroom gone too far
Me and them it’s time to spar
To the store for some more bait
Set it out and sit and wait
Bare no grudge against the mass
But it’s them who did trespass
They’re a part of nature’s order
But my doorjamb is their border

The Case Of The Disappearing Vegetables

Linda’s plate was full of food
To her Mom it all looked good
Little did her parent know
All those green beans had to go
What to do, there was no pooch
No furry friend who liked to mooch
Steak and salad with tomatoes
Great big pile of mashed potatoes
But the bane of that great feast
How to slay the veggie beast
Thinking fast she ate the rest
Put her magic to the test
Laid utensils side by side
Under which the beans she’d hide
Lined them up all in a row
Till not one of each did show
Said “I’m done”, picked up her plate
To the sink she made her break
But with Mother on patrol
Into sight one bean did role
Cross-hairs of a pointed finger
Turned around, she didn’t linger
Brought her plate back to the table
Linda ate her vegetables

The Stories In Between The Lines

The stories in between the lines.
The ones we hold most close.
The ones that tell on our deepest thoughts about ourselves and keep us awake at night.
The ones we wake to in fear.
The ones that haunt our dreams and leave us rife with emotion and in pain.
Our deepest doubts about our self-worth.
We hide these things deep inside.
A documentary of our existence never to been seen in a theater but for that of our own minds.
The times we were humiliated – left in pain – that we stumbled away from – walked a long way home to relive in our memories again and again.
Our fights, arguments, temper tantrums – taboo.
We hide these shards that mar our self concepts because everyone but ourselves is perfect…right?
We are the only one who is broken…right?
But from somewhere – from a place somewhere else – a voice assures us that we are perfect in every way.
Every way.

The Road

As I go through my recently passed wife’s belongings, I find an old photograph of a  dirt road
I pick it up and gaze at the two dimensional image which seems to shift before my eyes
The scene reaches out and invites me to come with it on a path to glory and contentment – to utter peace
I pleasantly fall into the frame  – into all of my days past – where a summer sun brilliantly crowns the long grass that lines the way
The road cuts through rich fields that drape the earth’s crust, softening the landscape for as far as the eye can see
I bump along in an old jalopy, listening to the lazy chirping of crickets when I hear singing
I see others on their way to a celebration and I fall in line
Dust in the air and the sounds of laughter
Food for all – plenty
Swimming and children playing – a picnic of ghosts
As the day ends, sun touching the horizon, a chilly breeze scatters leaves and revelers as warm homes and beds beckon
A tired orange globe sets fire to the dust that follows the jalopy on its journey
Every revolution of the wheels grinds into the earth a confirmation that we
passed this way – remembering
I stop and look behind me to see a fading image of myself holding the photograph – then it flickers and is gone
I decide not to turn back
My wife smiles at me as I put the car back into gear and we jerk forward
On that road, on that summer evening, crickets chirping, as the sun winks out of sight

Cold

Stealing along a darkened road; its path crooked
Fleeting around trees, leaves shivering in its wake, grass frozen mid-bow in homage
Inspecting, watchful, it’s purpose clear
A lone traveler comes; hungry for warmth
A house in the darkness; to the porch, peeking into windows; a door ajar
Cold sees an opportunity
Leaning in like a party guest offering unwanted advice, seizing the moment to enter
Quickly occupying every nook and cranny; nesting, rooting,
Inching forward through every carelessly cracked window, down every open chimney flue
Seeping along the floor, hugging corners
Inspecting cupboards, trying on boots and gloves
Filling closets and testing bed sheets; searching
Halting in a darkened corner, cold utters a sigh; glittery breath frosting windows in the vacant night
Uninvited visitor, unwelcome guest in the quiet
Faintly, the sound of voices tug at the fringes of its weary consciousness;
Lights flicker on, interrupting its blue reverie; the rising sound of laughter assaults it’s crude senses
Suddenly feeling exposed, resolve melting, Cold hurriedly gathers it’s things, shoulder’s its frosty rucksack, and dissolves into the baseboards and walls, hiding
Whispering down halls, tendrils collecting its belongings along the way, cold escapes out the door as a warm body enters, door shut rudely at it’s back
Indignant and disheveled, Cold collects itself, shrugs its pack into place, and starts once again down the road trailing winter behind it

Coffee’s Comin’ Down The Tracks

Morning ritual wakes us up.
Pound of coffee in your cup.
Black as night and heavy too.
Man, this is your kind of brew.
Coffee is so thick and dank.
Rolls in like a Sherman tank.
Busting rivets, twisting guts.
Loosening your bolts and nuts.
This pot it has a coal car.
A fireman and crew.
Hit that mountain running.
Son, you have no clue.
Clear the way to Uncle John.
Pave the streets and tell your Mom.
Ticker tape parade with bands.
Don’t forget to wash your hands.
When it’s done and all is quiet.
Feel like you’ve been on a diet.
Have another cup my friend.
I’ll stay with you to the end.

You would swear this has pistons and that the boiler is about to explode.