“Crispy Bacon”
Crispy bacon,
Steeped in grease.
Flavor popping?
Certainly.
Good on ice cream?
Rest assured.
I’ve had plenty,
But want some more.
Crispy bacon,
A want, not need.
Crispy bacon?
Yes, indeed!
“Crispy Bacon”
Category: Summertime Rhymes
“You Have Big Cereal Ideas”
“You Have Big Cereal Ideas”
Sometimes when I go to the store
I get big cereal ideas
My wife recognized this phenomenon
And when I first heard her say it I took offense
As I’m very sensitive about my big cereal ideas being called into question
She said, “You have big cereal ideas.”
Upon reflection, I thought that such a phrase might make a good poem
So now, when I go to the store
I remain ambitious about big cereal ideas
And I sneak an unusual selection into my cart
I pay at the register and bring it home
And when I sort the groceries
The unusual selection has a way of lingering on the table
And ultimately is discovered by my wife
Who then shakes her head
Because, she knows me better than I know my own intentions
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SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 55 – “Floating Around On The Breeze”
“Woolly-Toothed Madness” photograph courtesy K. Hayes 2019
“Floating Around On The Breeze”
Sometimes it takes forever when waiting around for growth.
Gradual, gradient, gratification.
Leather razor strops hang loosely from barber chairs.
Waiting to realign bent metal.
Taking it almost as far as it has ever gone,
Then cocooned,
And, brought forth into a new reality.
Shiny for a time.
Until, the patience required allows for another collection of potential.
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SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 54 – “Jalopy”
“Jalopy”
Jalopy: a favorite word of mine.
My childhood ranged a series of jalopies.
Somehow, my Father scraped enough together to get a used Ford Capri.
This being the family car from 1980-1983.
Bucket seats, knobs, leather.
A tapedeck that played a “Kenny Rogers Greatest Hits” album, ad infinitum.
An air freshener that smelled of magic, and freshness.
Having a jalopy, unburdened my maternal Uncle Kevin;
Because we did not ask him to borrow his Plymouth Valiant to go to the “Clownie House”.
The “Clownie House” is where we would go for respite and sustenance after picking up my Maternal Grandmother from her Saturday job at Jordan Marsh in Framingham.
Peanut shells cast about on the floor, an allergists nightmare.
A big screen displayed playing old time movies.
Beef hot dogs with french fries.
A real family restaurant.
Those in New England will remember it as “The Ground Round”, not the “Clownie House”.
But, that’s what we called it.
Saturdays were the best days.
Trips outside of our second floor apartment.
When weather permitted, windows down.
Hair blowing in the magnificent breeze,
Music playing.
Trusting that no matter where we went, our Father knew how to get there,
And, would always get us home.
Sometimes with bundles of food.
Errands.
Family.
Squeezed into a jalopy and ready for whatever came to us.
I really love that word.
Jalopy.
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SUMMERTIME RHYMES- # 52 – “The Kind Of Tired…”
“The Kind Of Tired…”
Not forty winks, but thirty-nine.
Laboring under the dream demons.
Sleep wake walking.
Terror beware.
Bump, goes sounds in the night.
Industrious mice or silverfish,
A spider defining territory.
A groggy stumble to the bathroom.
Pee symphony dancing on the porcelain waves.
Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary!
Sleep paralysis.
There is someone in the room.
I can’t hear them.
But, I know they’re there.
Kevlar blankets for protection?
Not forty winks, but thirty-nine.
If you’re in the neighborhood on Friday, September, 20; consider coming by the next installment of “Dint Forget Your Art!”
There is a strong rumor that I will be given a microphone.
