I happened upon a quart of oil in the cereal aisle
Chocolate chip cookies with the paper towels
The reflection of Randolph on a mirrored ceiling -
in a packed Super Market at the five o'clock hour* ...

On Sunday, my S.O. and I
Drove to see Chorus Line
At the Stratford Festival.
A matinee. Beautiful day.
We left the Refineries of Sarnia
For fine entertainment.
The Avon flows gently
Buoying white swans gracefully.
Blah... blah... blah.
All very real.
You can see why it's called, Stratford;
There could be no other name.
A good choice.
Best Shakespearean Festival in N.A.
She explained all this to me on the drive.
If contrary people suffer
From low self-esteem, I didn't help
The situation.
As we drove through rich, green farmland,
Grazing cattle.
She asked why some barns
Have ramps leading to the barn doors.
Well, says I,
The farmers, because of the economy,
Have to sell their livestock in parts,
So the ramps give easy access for the animals
Back to their stalls.
Huh, said S.O.
That's so thoughtful!
Timing is everything.
Sincerity in voice, critical.
Hurry on to a new topic.

Someday, for sure, she'll tell someone, somewhere
About the considerate farmer.
She will.
Timing.
Like the kick line.
Like a *punch line.

By marrying me, my wife proved
That she, had a lot of guts
Because
If it wasn’t her, then someone else for sure
That I’d be driving nuts
WIZDUMBs BY JA 391

He knew what women wanted
After all, he was a man of the world
None of that namby pamby stuff for his woman
Oh no, he was a practical man
So when she opened her presents
To find an iron and a hoover
She was ecstatic
She was that ecstatic
That when he came home the next day
To find his shirts pressed
The house spotless
Her gone
He couldn’t believe it.

I saw a bunch of poets
on a line
at the Avalon
in San Francisco

They looked so tired
So, I approached them
then stated
"you guys look beat"

but, at a closer glance
they were just ******

Allen was there
with Corso and Ferlinghetti
Bukowski was around the corner
trading his wife for cigarettes

again

I'm holding court
In my home,
Not so regal
On my throne.
The peons line-up
As I moan,
Trying to pass
My kidney stones.

A new species still being studied-

They have a compulsive obsession with mutilating their bodies
They yank out hairs in the place on their face made for expression
Daily they scrape off natural hairs from their limbs
And from under them, considering the act as simple hygiene practice

Some will even lay in a chamber of radiation to cook skin browner
And smear a smelly cream to make the skin look slimy shiny and '****'
They scorch their head hair to change the texture for a day
And they draw on their faces with crayons made from wax and oils

They prioritize displaying of the body shape over movement
With their tight denim body coverings and waist clinchers
They wear coverings of their feet with a stick replacing the heel
To look physically attractive, despite the injuries and lesions

They're expected to keep a casing over their chest tissues in public
They hide their pheromones with alcohol and fake smell of plants
They keep private and hidden that they perform excretory acts
And they're never content with the meat casing they're trapped inside

Only (almost) satisfied looking at their reflection and seeing a lie

A life built
With the finest materials
Needs a well-formed foundation;
A deep footing.
Your piles are now beneficial.

Wouldn’t it be nice
If we could live twice
So when the first one is done
We do the next one, for fun
WIZDUMBs BY JA 91

You look like one big freckle
The way that you are covered
From your head down to your toes
One end to the other

In the tint, shade, and color
Blending perfectly
Pink in pigmentation
All points in between

You look like you're from Florida
Sporting the finest tan
With not an inch of acreage left
In epidermis land

If freckles told a story
In all their sun drenched glory
You would be the greatest read
Of that you have no worries

Who is this Ja
Sean Hunt did ask
So I will tell you
This is my task

He’s a silly little man
Without any hair
His teeth are all gone
But he doesn’t care

He wears tiny glasses
Because he can’t see
They make him look cute
If you ask me

He writes some BOEMS
And thinks he is funny
But that hasn’t made
Him, any money

He writes WIZDUMBs too
And feels he is wise
But he has not yet
Won any prize

He makes up songs
And composes the tune
But won’t be on radio
Any time soon

Ja is that poor
Odd foolish man
Who just runs around
Does what he can

He’s the Polish version
Of that old grandpa
Just in his case
He is the Ja

He is in name
An old Polish, Jadek
I’m spelling it wrong
But what the heck

So there you have it
He’s no one of note
He’s not even famous
He’s just, an old goat
BOEMS BY JA 79