Gourmand Tuesday

This is for everybody,

bothered by the noise, the crunching,

the chewing, the back beats

of an out of control jukebox.

This is for everyone, the missed

opportunities and the taken

opportunities that maybe didn’t

work out because you misheard.

This is for everybody, everybody’s

everything. The drums of The Clash,

the silverware dump by the busser,

timed just right to miss the punch line.

The punch line of that long story your

friend was telling over dinner and you have to lean

over everyone who heard and shout above

their laughter, “What?” As you cheeks redden.

This is for everybody, that missed the

boat, missed the moment, missed the

chance, missed it. That “it”. The all

important, “IT”.

Everybody, you didn’t miss this.

Here it is for you. Here’s what it

reads, here’s what it meant,

and now you know.

Everybody’s everyone.

Is there.

You just didn’t know it,

because of the noises.

Or it was Fat Tuesday, in New Orleans,

and you’ve been drinking all day,

you’re half naked in the street wearing

a jester’s hat, drowning in colored beads. 

Maybe that.

Free Lunch

Try the sandwich, Sir,

Try the sandwich, Miss.

There’s no charge

you see, for either,

you see.

Certainly it’s disease free,

nothing wrong with our

free sandwiches at all,

we only ask,

Sir,

Miss,

that you sit here for a bit.

Nothing shady or wrong,

we believe,

just a wee respite,

with a free sandwich,

while you watch this amazing

video, of our CEO, eating a

sandwich.

Isn’t the sandwich sexy?

Try the sandwich won’t you?

Miss?

Sir?

It’s free; with only a side of

misogyny, bigotry or alien

conspiracies.

Yes, that is home made mayo,

right here in the shop.

No, it’s not gluten free, but

taste the difference, compared to

some other philosophies.

Try the free sandwiches,

Sir?

Miss?

Mister?

Ma’am?

They’re free…

Alternative Fact Valentine's Day

Alternative Fact Valentine’s Day,

which I came up with all by

myself, without any assistance

from anyone, not even my mother.

Valentine’s Day started when Jesus

told the Apostles to dig up heart

shaped rocks on the beach and

throw them at the women they

liked.

It’s also the day that Dr. Jonas Salk

discovered the cure for polio

when he cut his finger on a paper

heart valentine he was making

for a fellow scientist that was,

in his words, “totes sexual chocolate.”

I cannot count the number of lovers I’ve

had on the hands of Vishnu. Who all

constantly call me and beg for my

love and sweet kisses and amazing

Valentine’s Day presents.

In Alternative fact, I’ve never, ever

disappointed a lover on Valentine’s Day

or found myself at a bar at three in the

morning wondering about why I’m

so repellent to the ladies. Nope,

never happened to me.

So enjoy your Valentine’s as much

as I have always enjoyed mine and may

your loves be as extraordinary as I am

in bed.

Happy Valentine’s Day! 

Aw Shit, it's Valentine's Day

Aw shit, it’s St. Valentine’s Day

time again. 

I remember there was a period

when all I seemed to  write about

was how I longed for love with overwrought

sentimentality, dripping with the

flowery language of “romance”.

Now, all I can think is,

“Aw Shit, it’s Valentine’s Day…”

I don’t hate romance, or love poetry.

I don’t begrudge anyone their romantic

happiness.

I’m a big fan of love and romance,

but I’m getting more used to the idea that

I’ll be one of those that just goes without.

Sure, I’m loved in platonic and family ways,

I love others in the same vein. We don’t

send Valentine’s to each other or make

romantic showings.  It’s a Hallmark holiday

without anything real for those relationships.

There’s no need for weeping sentiment

or rosy worded greeting cards covered in

silver glitter around felt hearts. That’s something

couples do, or married folks, or maybe schoolboys

send to their crushes.

I’ll watch TV at home on Valentine’s Day,

I’ll do my normal things.  Normal stuff like pining for

love with that special woman that sparks

my heart into action, eat a microwave dinner,

look out the window, go to bed.

So Aw Shit…,

shit, shit, shit.

Another Valentine’s Day without

that special wink, nod, smile, hand holding,

hair flip, kiss, or otherwise intimate gyration.

Shit.

What's in That Cup?

As I sip my coffee and

marvel at the French Vanilla

goodness of it, I wonder about

the processed chemical components

of it and whether it’s bad for me,

but it’s so delicious in my steamy cup.

Do I care?

Do I care that it might be unhealthy?

That it might be made with bug legs or

cow eyes or monkey pubes?

Do I care that it might not be good for

my liver or heart?

No.

I don’t.

I don’t care.

It’s good and I want it.

Every single morning I want it.

I miss it on the days I don’t have coffee.

I take another sip, even after writing the

phrase, “monkey pubes”.

Ahh, satisfying.

The right amount to pick me

up and get me going, to focus on my job,

my poem, my life.  

Is it metaphorical?

Are we all willing to swallow a little unknown

to sate our overwhelming desires for

some fleeting satisfaction?

Are we conditioned to eat and drink from

the table of chemistry without complaint?

Another warm sip, my coffee is cooling now,

it almost tastes better when it’s not piping hot,

its rich and lightly creamy, full of sugar and optimistic

potential. I can get that project done. I can get these

tasks completed, thanks to the coffee and French Vanilla

flavors, and maybe monkey pubes.