Tag: humor

Encouraging Ventriloquism

All of our children are sleeping.
while we’re stubbing our toes,
biting our fists, quickly creeping
around these furniture foes

That make me into a ventriloquist
Inflicted with a loud-noised injury.
I know that I can quietly resist,
But charming children wake to scream for me.

Depressed Lawn

Imprint of Matthias in the lawn.

I came home yesterday to find my lawn depressed
With an indent of my child, it seems to have regressed
To a time when that small infant took a nap out in the shade
Staring up at pinecones while the other kids had played.

Stepping over sweet Matthias and crashing near his head
They wheel’d their wagons, trucks and cars across his bed.
He’s in that adorably cute, but not too clingy phase
Where we can set him down and know he stays.

Unless he’s on a blanket being dragged somewhere
And that only happens once-ish, and then there
He stays while Gianna’s being punished for kid-dragging
And then changed into a diaper that’s not sagging.

All the while my oldest drives his little pickup truck
Through our basil and our peppers before he gets it stuck
caged between tomatoes, he parks against the wall
I pause conversing with a friend so that I can call

out “Hey Duncan, don’t drive into the garden.”
I take a lunch-break-look around the yard and
add “don’t kill the plants, let the bugs eat–em.,
After all, if it weren’t for us, who’d feed-em.”

All of this in a long day lunch break passed
while underneath my blanket had been cast
A grass angel image that will quickly fade
Left in recollection and poetic form relayed.

A Classic Dinner

We’ll be having leftovers tonight.
Baked spaghetti is ready despite
All of my efforts pursuing
Something without a previewing.

I think I’d rather be thinner
Than eat more of this for dinner.
It had no problem going down
The second or third time around

But this fourth take tries my patience
In an apprehensive way.
How many variations
can we have before we say

that food’s no longer edible.
It’s time for an imaging game
“Leftovers” are no longer credible
So “Classics” could be the new name.

How much sweeter that would sound
“We’re having classics honey”
Than leftovers left around
To save a little money.

Vending Machine

I know that I’ve just been had
By the vending machine so glad
To take my money and stand there
So next time I’ll know where

I can take my dollar and shove it
in a machine that already took my two cents.
Inconveniently I love it,
Spending money on convenience.

Still, I’m paying too much
for half a bag of chips
still hanging in the clutch
of its twisty metal grips.

I feed the box more presidents
To let the chips fall where they may
But now two bags of hesitance
Will fight another day.

Ninja Abs

Something in my youth had told me
I should desire a trimmed down look.
I bought into what they sold me,
But the magic beans just never took.

Now that I’m older and somehow more mature
My stealthy washboard stomach goes unseen
And its silent ninja prowess holds allure
To those who cannot find their own machine.

Like Clark Kent undetected wearing glasses
I’m a Ninja secret man of abs of steel.
A whispered voice inside me grumbles gases
Which complements my ninja abs’ appeal.

Thank God I’ve been spared from a chiseled physique,
Saved from a tightened six pack.
Rather than holding a fizzled mystique,
I’m prepared for a silent attack.

Toilet Paper Roll

It’s a wonder to me
how it came to be
That the TP was replaced
Since my wife and I
Don’t always try
To restock the wiper of waste.

Must have been someone we know
Who put the roll upon our spindle
As a guest who really had to go
And replace our paper dwindle.

‘Cause often our roll sits perfectly still
To be picked up off of the window sill
Then slowly unwound in my hand
Before it’s placed on end, to stand

Wherever it is I can reach,
On the edge of the bath tub or sink.
This thought process I preach
Won’t stop when I do to think

“wow, it’s time to replace the roll”
‘Cause loading the spindle evades me
as I avoid the awkward stroll
with an extra roll that aides me.