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Posts Tagged ‘humor’

The Very Sorry Magician

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on August 22, 2024| 5 Comments »

 
 
Said the man in the cape
and the big black hat
to the top of the woman
he’d just sawn in half,
But it usually works.
He looked askance.
Do you think I could have
a second chance?

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Christie Sends Me a Photo

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on May 29, 2024| 7 Comments »


 
 
Her head is pasted onto my body
wearing a very plain black dress.
My head’s pasted onto her body
wearing a flamboyant jumpsuit
with pixilated technicolor chaos,
a jumpsuit she’s tried to get me
to wear for months.
She knows wearing patterns
makes me queasy. And what
is it in us that loves to make
our beloveds squirm?
I’m an easy target.
She knows I will squeal and
splutter and rail, so when I call
in a righteous outrage
over how she’s dressed my likeness
in a blenderized rainbow,
she laughs and I laugh
and something is so right
with the world then—
this goofy, giddy moment
when the stakes are low
and I am uncomfortable and prickly
and feel so deeply seen,
so able to laugh at the lines I draw.
I fall inside the laughter,
feel it wrap around me
bright as that flashy jumpsuit.
And I, who crave what is solid,
I dissolve into that brightness.
 

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Gold Medal

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , on February 22, 2024| 11 Comments »

 
 
I’ve beaten my own record. Again.
Most tears shed while thinking
of people who are kind.
First tears in the audience
at an elementary choir concert.
Longest number of days in a row
weeping for any reason.
If crying were a sport,
I’d be a contender.
Furthest distance
for projectile tears.
Most Kleenex’s used
while reading a single poem.
Greatest variety of emotions
that might inspire weeping.
I did have a good coach
in my mother. My grandfather.
My aunt. They modeled
crying for love, for grief,
for sincerity, for prayer.
I’m a legacy, really,
natural talent, plus
practicing all the time.
Blue sky? Bawling. Brave kids?
Sobbing. Great loss?
I’ve been a puddle for years.
And to think I used to try
to stop the tears.
As if they were something
to be ashamed of.
As if they didn’t make me
a real winner.

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I Want an Interlude with Mr. Clean

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on August 10, 2018| Leave a Comment »

want to find him in my kitchen

with his big muscled arms

and his spotless white shirt.

Call me James, he’ll say, as I

pour him a glass of sauvignon blanc.

Then he’ll pull out a permanent marker

and write his name on the glass.

What are you doing? I’ll ask.

When I’m around, there’s a world

 

of crafty possibilities, he’ll say.

Then he’ll whip out his trusty white magic eraser

and swipe the permanent marker away.

And he’ll give me a spin—

Open for me your oven door.

Oh, James, I’ll say, you don’t mean …

 

… that I will bring my legendary clean

to your oven glass? Why yes, Rosemerry,

I can lift grease buildup from hard to clean places.

He’ll give me a flex. Kitchen sink next?

He’ll swagger across the room. I’ll swoon.

Oh, James. I never knew you’d be so, so, so …

 

… adept at sticky residue? he’ll suggest,

and I’ll guide his hand to my

faucet. Say good bye to water spots,

he’ll say with a grin, his teeth glistening

like brand new white backsplash tile, like unused linoleum,

and we’ll dance together across the sparkling floor, sponges in hand,

drawn to whatever is dirty. And the room will smell

of meadows and bleach and rain. And oh darling, he’ll say,

don’t you think it’s time you took me to the bath?

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