WHARVED

Five-Foot Stool

Something about the vicar
doesn’t inspire much confidence
in me, especially when
I’m trying to keep my balance
on this five-foot stool.

Who thought to make
a piece of furniture
so unwieldy? Why did I buy it
in the first place?

Little Stellar Status

Hippo ate a dipper
of little stellar status
just this afternoon,

swishing his brandy
in preparation
for a siesta

to last seven hours
or six and a half

if he wants
to stop by the bank
before closing time.

All That Remains

A ham and turkey omelette
is all that remains

from what used to be
a proud civilization,

destroyed just this morning
after coffee.

Lazy Meteorologists

In the weather
and aftermath of said weather
(not something to be foretold,
but guessed at by thousands
of lazy meteorologists),

we shall light the spark
of a righteous flame
and carry it with us
in our pockets.

You understand
that our pants
must be flame-retardant.

You may find such a garment
at your local department store,
wherever pants are sold.

Cult Status

It’s as though we’re filling a leaden cup
with duck blood to be consumed
by the pharaoh of string cheese.

Well, I won’t tolerate such behavior
for the rest of this semester.
It constitutes cult status, you understand.

I have no desire to mix myself
in your intransigence. Damn you and your
thinking ahead for the sake of humanity

and the powerful leader we will all come to know
as Trumpola. Trumpola— the fine carnival barker,
the one they sneer at and jeer at

until the cows come home and make us all knife
into the water from at least 10 meters in height.
A few of us will bellyflop and really leave
a nice red mark. One of those red marks will resemble Oklahoma.

Hedgeling Wanderers!).

Fiddling like a riddled old gatekeeper
on a spoon query maintenance jag of sorts,
I turned my leg on a pivot while
anticipating the move of my well-positioned adversary.

Needless to say,
I threw off a good belt of hangtooth crown medleys that afternoon
(you should have seen the hedgeling wanderers!).

NaPoWriMo 2015 — XIII: How Many Steps Does It Take

How many steps does it take in the scenario where you’re all out of gas and you need to get to the nearest town when you’re four miles away from anything remotely resembling a gas station and your shoes have holes worn through the bottoms of the soles due to that wear and tear factor you hadn’t considered until the holes were already there and you had to put the shoes on because they’re your only pair and you were actually planning to go to the shoe store but chose to order some online instead, then subsequently agonized over the selection of beautiful footwear, most of which out of your price range (but you browse anyway because you’re a masochist and pride yourself on enjoying the finer things in life, like cheeses, wines and teas) and downright impractical for your wardrobe and lifestyle anyway?

The answer is 1,296,374. That number may be exaggerated, but let’s see you come up with a better one. Jeez, everyone’s a critic.