baking soda

while cutting hot serrano peppers for soup
she also cut her finger
not for the soup, it just happened

the soup was good but her finger burned
painfully hot because she
had worked it around in pepper juice

eating with on hand
she kept her irritated hand
in a kettle of water on the table

water didn't help and it looked novel
i didn't ask her to pass anything

later she found relief
by rubbing it with baking soda

the next evening i used my fingers to sprinkle
ground chili peppers on my food, then rubbed my eye
i was going blind or die trying

she told me - put baking soda on it, baking soda
i considered putting my head in a plastic bag
with baking soda in it
instead i rinsed my eye with water and it worked
or i would have tried soda pop

she knew the time

to discover for yourself
is usually best
to hear it told
one does not believe it

there was one girl
a friend of mine
always and ever
she knew the time

when we were kids
i somehow found out
time was one thing
she knew about

she knew the moment
to start for school
how long the chicken baked
and when to remove the cookies from the oven

she looked quite ordinary
as appearances count
her grades were just average
so teachers did not suspect

never tardy for a class
nor late for supper
or tuned in late for a favorite tv show
she ran the clock for high school basketballs games

if she rose before the end of class
then the bell was off
she woke precisely at six
without alarm or other tricks

she knew the time
when to shower
and the hour when to dine
the minute too soon
and the second too late
remember the time we did that?
"yes, 9:15 in fact!"

when she was grown
and on her own
many were the hours
she spent alone
for appointments she was never late

she knew each minute
and the seconds in it
a gift or a curse
for better or for worse

new year's eve when others
watched the times square ball
she didn't have to look at all

alas she died at 32
yet still i'm sure she knew ahead
at which hour they would find her dead

precious junk

my precious junk is all mine
and it's senseless to get rid of it
no one wants these accumulated pseudo treasures
and i sure as hell won't have a sale so some knucklehead
can wander up, scratch their fat butt and ask,
will you take a dollar for it?
get the hell out of here!
i 'm keeping it all, every bit
living with it and loving it
Silas Marner was on to something

when i'm dead let who ever is left deal with it
sell it or dig a ditch and throw it in
but for now, these keep sakes are memories of a lifetime
i am surrounded by the clutter
so i must love it all
where it is
lined up and piled high
i'll walk around it when i have to
once in a while i notice something in particular, smile and wonder
what is it and where in the hell did that come from?
when i am gone and they have to sift through all this crap
they'll say with pride
at least he never collected Beanie Babies

frog countin'

5 or 2 to 4
like the old Chicago song 25 or 6 to 4
only i'm talkin' green now

frog counting is difficult under the best of situations
there were five
remember big frog? he was a grinner
then it rained
and then there were two

a day passed and we counted three
another day or rain and we go to four
big frog hit the highway
no doubt about it
mating season for the big guy

the young ones that remain probably were born in the pond
and have another year to go before they take wings
so we have four cuties
(two may be a courtin'
they're always sitting together)

duck

I'm working here. This is new font. I figure this year we have a work in progress. If I can make it work, I'll keep it, but I might have to switch to a regular site so a particular entry can be more easily found. The other day I was searching for something I had written January fifteenth. It took a long time to find it. If I could put things in alphabetically . . . ah well, we'll see what happens.
The following entry is a bit serious, but isn't life.


a short walk from where we now live
i got to a spot that reminded me
my older brother used to hunt ducks
right here when he was young
here by this tree
now it's practically in the middle of town

he took me out hunting once
to a marsh somewhere
he knew where to go
for some reason a few ducks flew in
shortly after we got there
came low right over us
it was an ambush

yelled at me to get it, shoot it, get it
shoot! shoot!
and i shot

blew that sucker to smithereens
saw it explode, tumble and drop dead
practically at my feet
it took the full force of the shotgun blast right in the chest
i heard the thump when it hit the earth
the mallard wasn't pretty anymore
laying there it looked like a wadded up rag

and i knew that was it for me
i'm sorry it happened
and would never do it again

after college i joined the navy
cause i was going to get drafted
and went in enlisted
didn't want to be an officer
was afraid i'd like it
i led the choir in boot camp
and worked as a journalist for four years
still play the piano
guns aren't for me

in a rose bush

in a rose bush up the side
of our house is a nest
where a robin sits on eggs

the other adult returns
passes food to the sitter
as the soon to be family

takes turns warming the eggs
discouraging blackbird invaders
while waiting for the children

south river

with just enough clearing in the brush
to make it to the river's edge
i sit by the water
thinking of son and daughter
and, my, how they grew

it could be june, at least it's warm
and this tired old rowboat is mine
to paddle a little way from shore
to drift away into time gone before
i feel the sun on my back

as the tiny water bugs circle
small animals and insects move in the thicket
and with nothing that matters
my every new thought scatters
it sure is a nice sunny day

i played at this place before
saw carp jump and ducks fly over
in this land i knew most of
i'm now just a ghost of
old memories on south river

a shoulder to cry on

a shoulder to cry on
i saw that and thought how beautiful
oh wow

then, send me the pillow you dream on
and while you're at it
i could also use a dozen eggs

just pack everything in a box
make sure it doesn't get all crushed
you'll have to deliver it yourself

cause if you mail it
our mailman will drop it a few times
and kick it all over the lawn

then that'll be the end of
our true love story