Don't have a wishbone
Where your backbone ought to be,
They told me, so often.
See, wishbones are meant
For Thanksgiving dinners where
Two children break it
In half to see who
Gets the first turkey leg,
or something like that.
See, wishbones aren't strong.
They aren't reliable, strong
Enough to support you
When what you ought to
Do doesn't comply with what you
So dearly wish for.
If you lack backbones,
And have a wishbone for a
Spine instead, you should
Get to breaking that
wishbone right out of your mind
And body because
At the end of the day,
A backbone is all you have
When wishes aren't your
A backbone will keep you up
Whereas a wishbone
Will break easily,
As easily as your heart
Will when your wishes
Do not come true. A
Backbone is something you ought
To have instead dear.
I want to
Break off both pieces
Of that wishbone.
I want to keep them
In place together,
Still holding them;
Shaking along with you.
Has already been
I’m just greedy.
Enough to see
Where this surreal night
Takes us as we sway,
Lest we be killed
By the trembling masses
That crushes all our moments.
the season has begun
and tonight was oh so fun
it was the first dinner of many
we had turkey a plenty
yet there was only one lone
i knew right then and there
and maybe it wasn't fair,
that i had to be the one to break
i had to be the one to make
a wish and hope for it to
so i grabbed one end
and it started to bend,
i couldn't believe my eyes
when in my hand was the bigger size
which means my wish about you
will possibly come true.
I wish for happiness.
I wish for peace.
I wish for love.
I wish for good health.
I wish for success.
I wish for a raise.
I wish for career.
I wish for school.
I wish for trust.
I wish for marriage.
I wish for children (someday).
I wish for...
I found a wishbone on Thanksgiving. I need to make one single wish with the opposite sex and I hope for my piece that I pull will be the longer end. And if it is...what do I wish for?
Thursday night is game night but Hasbro
has never had this one right. Operation is not
a game for ages four and up–maybe four,
multiplied by four, add four, and up.
Surgical mask on, Cavity Sam prepped,
and tweezers waiting to the right of the operating table:
I like to start with the Adam's apple–
carve away any trace of my origins
and they will never figure out who I am
because, like my mother used to say to me,
who is Eve without a blameless man.
Then I move on to the butterflies in the stomach
flittering and fluttering for a home that feels far more familiar
but they cannot be caught, only drowned.
Naturally, the broken heart follows
but the problem with pulling that out is
You know, the absence that predates writer's block–
writer's cramp, sliding a pencil up your wrist like it's the
(best kept) secret IV of an author.
Is that the price of filling up your bread basket,
going to bed full on recognition and reward
and maybe even a Pulitzer Prize?
Be careful not to trip up on your own ego
or you just might end up with a wrenched ankle
and water on the knee.
I still have to deal with the wishbone,
the only-one-of-us-is-leaving-here-happy zone.
And finally, I have the spare ribs
but I just might leave those there
because we see what happened when God
bothered to remove those the last time.
I wanted to tell you a story
To spill it out all before you
So you could put it back together
in a way it would all make sense
In the way I know only you can do
I know you, you know me,
How can it be, do you see?
I know you do, it's so true
You speak to my soul, you do.