mewing, mooing & mewling*
(~ for Steve Reimer ~)
legged up and in three, 1, 2, 3, +++
count-’em, poems, the third be this,
as the Northwest Pacific reviews a
recent scribble to which I made reference
to a maternity ward of newbie p~babies,
all mine (!) howling write me, write me!
god, what an awful orchestral, tempting
me to pull the covers up as the National
Weather Service 15 minutes too late,
advises of severe weather, lighting and
thunder, thunder, thunder (imagine Dragons)
between the accursed meteorology, and
the heterology of my babies, all so unlike,
born from different mothers and implanted,
by you my brothers and sisters, the cacophonous
phrase “mewing, mooing & mewling” bellows
and bullies it’s way to the forefront of the list
cause its freshest, ‘jess like my 18 oz. of porcelain
encased Blue Mountain Java and Fat Free Fairlife
cow’s milk, and sadly bullies get away with it far,
far, too many times…
and with that introduction I bid you a fond good day / bye,
as I wimped, whine and woebetide y’all if you’re fool
enough to think multiple births is a piece of cake,
most likely you’ll be howling, not just, you know,
mewing, mooing & mewling
10:03AM
5/23/2024
S.i.
