Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Be afraid.
The breakdown of civilization
is at the hands of our well-meaning,
overly thrifty,
spoon-wielding  mothers.

Be very afraid.
They are entranced by spices
and covering condiments,
pepper and powder,
onion and garlic galore.

Gingerly they add cumin and dill,
cinnamon, nutmeg or cloves
with thyme to add sage and curry,
parsley, paprika and allspice.

Their casseroles become
zombie food
as the dead
reanimates.

These cheese-added monsters,
hungry for mystery-meat,
render brains to mush
and bind our bowels.

They stiffen our gait
with numbness and nausea
until we are rendered victims
of another pepto-pandemic.

And in the night
of the living dead,
feeding us salt
in a casserole apocalypse,
we panicked victims become
the casseroles we consume.

Now paralyzed
in fear
by the light
of the open refrigerator.
I will admit
to overdosing them
with sweet beguiling
slippery softener
‘till dead at my feet
they can rise
no more.

Yet they cling to me
as they can
with a ghastly
screaming need
for me to pull
them up.

Yes, once
I had a pair of normal socks.
You may have to think hard
to remember
boredom,
that lay on the couch,
curl up with a good book
lapse into nothingness
way of existing.

Ahhh...

Drink cocoa
slow.
Lick marshmallowy foam
off your lips.
Expect nothing
more than the turn
of another page.

Ahhh…

Let quietness seep
in with breaths
deep and warming,
a hot mug to your cheek.

Linger.
Let only decadent words
pour from your mouth
when silent reading
can not be done.

Ahhh…
Even tightly wound thread
must learn
to let go.

Flying through the machine
is the only way to leave
the spool spinning
naked.
Yes,
it was a special day.

We were all there,
some by force
of the buffet,
some by force
of mothers.

And suddenly,
my dog
feeling the force
of Mother Nature,
left a piece
at the feet
of my Aunt Kate.

My dog,
now obviously
the reincarnation
of my Uncle Ted,

may he rest in peace,

caused Aunt Kate
loudly to dismay,
"My God!"
The rain has started
with a quietness
so warm and calming
that the tree
throws its back
into the gentle wind
and feels the wetness
rushing down its bark.

It allows the drips to slip
through its branches
between bud
and newly formed leaf
soaking down
through the dusty dirt
surrounding its trunk
and flow deep
deep down
to the thirsty straws
of its roots.

Throwing away
all safety advice
I stand with one hand
on the tree’s wet bark
and the other out and up
allowing the drips to slip
through my fingers
between the rings
of our newly formed union
soaking down
through my clothes
surrounding my skin
and flow deep
deep down
to the healing place
of my soul.

And if my sighs of contentment
and renewed strength
were not so loud,
you could have heard
the tree’s.
Parents assembled
cameras at the ready
the graduates march
with mortarboards tassled.

Faculty tributes
ever glowing praises
but graduates listen
with an eye to the prize.

Pomp and Circumstance
playing throughout the gym
while graduates ignore
with hopes for a cupcake.

Kindergarten bites.
Next page