no, not a political divide crossed.

no, not switching fandom to the
hated other crosstown team,
with the clownish bobble head
thing.

once a meat eater, a meat eater
for life.

stolidly, boringly straight, waaay
too late
to switch that side.

the switch referred to herein is more
profound, straining boundaries of a
decades long term relationship.

I desire  to switch sides of the bed we
sleep on, after decades of habit, that
transferred with us when we traveled,
moved etc. To each Our Side was the
Natural Order of Things, a higher law,
immutable, constitutional and ranked
higher than the Ten Commandments.

over time, my side sank beneath the
excess weight of growing old with
bad lifestyle habits…a bad back, an
aging frame, core muscles that seem
to have been decored, made a new
firmer bed a necessity,

when we called 1-800-Mattress, we two
social security retirees, were shocked,
shocked! at the hole in our budgets
such an expenditure required.  We would
be forced to survive on bread (brioche)
and water (Pelligrino) for weeks, our only
condimentable affordable would be margarine,
a pseudo butter made in chemical factories.

so, she refused.

I sank into deep despair, for who could deny
her finger pointing “J’accuse” where responsibility
for this truly lay (lie?).

marriage counselors demanded exorbitant premium
prepayments, Medicare said ha ha, and United Health
Care was united in their ***** opposable *******
but eloquent “Mais Non!”

As I write this, Climate Comservationists have confirmed
my sinking side is now receding at a rate of 4 cm/year.
The implicit implication was at the Great Melt Flood of 2050
that was coming to sink us, I would not be quietly floating down
the Hudson River out to a South Pacific isle, but would join Jason Bourne in the green crystal clear waters of the nearby East River, but unlike Jason, I can’t hold my breath for twenty minutes, ergo and ipso facto, I am doom-ed.

So I have started a GoFundMe to obtain a new airy mattress  capable of variable soft/hard differential setting on each side, with an inflatable air pumping gizmo just for the end of days.

Thanking you in advance and be assured lol your contributions will remain not anonymous.

Yours, Extra, Sincerely,

Ogdiddynash (Ogdiddynatsch)

con-none-drum-roll please

why do “people” wear
really short ,
really tight, skirts,
then spend the rest of the day
tugging,

tugging repeatedly,

on an invisible schedule,

to con us into lowering
the temperature
in them
overheated classrooms?

ogdiddy

i am a slow dawner,
sometimes it takes a moment
or a day or even a daze,
till I realize that an insult
flung my way though it
didn’t latch on immediately

as her ears are in perpetuity
plugged with apple earbuds,
it is always a surprise when
she acknowledges me in
real-time and when it is a subtle
insect sized insult, it oft goes
steathily around me like a lion in jungle,
stalking its less than observant prey,
wing aweem away, right past me!

so when in a momentary open ear status,
I inform how nice it is to hear our actual
conversation, she adroitly respondez-moi
(en anglais)
with the title of this poem…

she inquires why I write so many poems,
easy comes reply:
It gives me a fantastic living,
it makes and gives, each poem,
a calculation, a reconciliation
of who I am...a miner of the
mineral wealth in my veins

woman asks a why-oh-why
while-I’m-driving-interrogatory,

seeing that tears are rolling down
old poet’s face as we transverse
these United States,

on I-80, Heading to San Francisco,
over the George Washington Bridge,
commencing in Teaneck, New Jersey,
2,906 miles, not including getting lost.

Are you sad for any reason particular?
Are we lost already?

weeping for my country, for with every mile,
see amity and wisdom disappearing,
out the open window,
both by wind taken,
both forsaken,

our route is clear,
but I see what
I most fear, we are not lost,
but my country,
our poor country
is,
everywhere good people,
desperately seeking mercy now!

ahem!

phasers on full,
having violated
someone’s human rights,
prepared to be eliminated.

on trial for a continuance
to keep on breathing,
gave a summation speech:

an untitled poem
is a diamond with
a single imperfection,
casting shadow doubt
on the flawlessness of
a huge finger rock

it’s an angel without a halo,
it’s a cat without any claws,
it’s a ice cream sundae sans cherry,
it’s a rudderless ship, no captain,
it’s rock ‘n roll without **** Jagger,
country with no Bonnie or Jolene,
female songwriters with no Adele

it’s a woman you’ve met on a train,
falling in love, instantly, whimsically,
she says I love you too! but there’s
no profit in it, no chance of success,
leaves without leaving her name

it’s a poem without a directive, a legendary,
imperfect perfection without a signpost pointer,
it’s the only loving worth having, that when lost,
unforgiving, the thousandth cut, so when she asks,
“forgive me?” your silence chokes, you cannot reply

incapable of completion,
you’re un-entitled,
you’re untitled,
a blank,
whited-out,
nameless as well

forevermore

you write of dismembered leaves,
pains too sweet,
using incontrovertible idiocies like
quiet rain, droplets shining like sunlight,
edible goodbye cheerios,
tastes that burn eyelids colored in
blood stained mustard yellow,
the gladness of sadness,
reversible rivers flowing heavenwards,

really?

dechambered hearts, ventricular mysteries,
brains wearing wooly sport jacket helmets
and others, more weirder too,
wonderfully inexplicable,
other jimmy olsonian beauties,
non-lexical non-commonsensical
ecumenical hysterical
chemical verbal reactionaries,
and then you wonder why,

PEOPLE ******* HATE POETRY?