Day Twenty-eight

Today's words:

Widow

Miser

Warship

Mutton

Fin

Parrot

"Widow,"

What an awful, hollow word. A true miser

Of sound and feeling. I told him not to get on that warship,

But that's done. And now I must subsist on mutton,

And fin

Stew and other such offal, while people parrot

Their sympathies at me. Well I'll not parrot

My thanks back at them. If widow

I am, so be it. But I've still got a fin

Or two. No need to live like a miser

Yet. Let the sailors eat their mutton

Stew as they wait on their warship

To join him. He was so proud of that warship.

When he'd say that word I'd change it to "worship," like a parrot

Who wasn't quite right. Well now I'll put on my leg o'mutton

Sleeves and dress like a proper widow

While smiling at the miser

Next door, who hasn't parted with a fin

In ages. He knew how to spend a fin,

My husband did, before that warship

Took him from me. No miser

Was he, nor senseless parrot.

I so miss our conversations! As a widow

I talk only to myself, but it's like talking to mutton,

Except that you can at least eat mutton.

I'd rather be a mermaid, with a long tail fin,

Luring a sailor, looking to create a new widow,

Calling him off that warship.

Is that what happened to mine? How I'd like to parrot

His words back to him now. I'd be no miser

With my thoughts, nor a miser

With my charms. But I fear they've grown as dull as mutton.

Maybe I'll buy a parrot

So someone will at least make a sound. But I do think it was the tail fin

That lured him from that warship

And made of me a widow.

So here we are: the miser stroking his fin,

The sailors eating mutton on the warship,

And the parrot refusing to talk for the widow.

Day Twenty-seven

Today's words:

Jump

Porridge

Playground

Fad

Horse

Zoo

"Jump

"Up!" said Nanny, "And eat your porridge

"So we can go to the playground

"Or your recent fad,

"Visiting the horse

"At the petting zoo."

Every child feels like a creature in a zoo.

Being ordered to jump

On command, like a trained horse,

And fed disgusting porridge

While striving to keep up with the latest fad

Of the playground

Bullies. For make no mistake, the playground

Is a more structured society than a zoo,

Made up of different classes of animals. The rulers impose their fad,

Whether it be to jump

Off the swings, have porridge

Fights, or play horse

With the little kids. A brutal game of horse

On the playground

Will kill your appetite for porridge.

It's like at the zoo

When bigger lions jump

On smaller ones. But pack leaders are a fad - 

King of the jungle one day, a forgotten fad

The next, as some new horse

Comes to jump

Over more kids on the playground

Than the last. Back at the zoo

The lion savors its porridge.

My nanny used to put raisins in my porridge.

It was quite a fad

Until she discovered, one day at the zoo,

That I'd spit them out and saved them, to feed to the horse

That we passed on the way to the playground.

I'd thought it would make it jump.

Feeding porridge to the horse

Was just another fad on the playground

Until we tried it at the zoo, to make the lions jump.

Day Twenty-six

Today's words:

Prejudice

Palace

Blackboard

Torrent

Angel

Spy

Prejudice

Is not as simple as keeping some people out of the palace,

Or writing their names on a blackboard

And expelling them with a torrent

Of invective. I'm no angel

Here, but I may be a spy.

From here I spy

On all the ways prejudice

Takes an angel

From the palace

Of good, only to transform him in a torrent

Of lies written on a blackboard.

I say erase the blackboard.

Go out and find the spy

Who has been providing a torrent

Of misinformation, fueling the prejudice

That infests the palace.

I may not be an angel;

I do not have the wings of an angel.

But I know better than to believe what's written on the blackboard

Outside the palace.

They say I'm a spy,

But that's just their prejudice.

Soon I'll unleash a torrent

To cleanse them, like a torrent

Of love frees an angel

From prejudice.

And now I write on the blackboard

The true name of the spy

Who has infiltrated the palace.

Even though I live in the palace

I know I am not immune from the torrent

Of lies spread by the spy

Who, posing as an angel,

Uses the blackboard

To spread insidious prejudice.

Even in this palace an angel

Can't hold back the torrent alone. We must watch the blackboard

And be sure to spy for any sign of prejudice.

Day Twenty-five

Today's words:

Ladder

Certificate

Sugar

Concert

Hobby

Stiletto

"You don't need a ladder

"To get me and I don't need a marriage certificate.

"But I would like some sugar

"Or tickets to tonight's concert.

"Men are kind of my hobby,"

She explained. He smiled as he plunged his stiletto

Into her heart. In her stiletto

Heels he'd nearly needed a ladder

To kiss her. He'd made a hobby

Of tall women, and no certificate

Deterred him. He chased them all, anywhere, at a concert

Or in a bar, licking the sugar

Off the rim of her drink. "Do you like sugar?"

He'd purr, "Because I am very sweet," fingering his stiletto.

He'd use it later, after the concert,

After he'd climbed the ladder

To her heart, after she was thinking about a certificate

With both their names on it. His true hobby

Was killing. But in the meantime this hobby

Would do. He dropped a cube of sugar

Into his coffee and slowly stirred, thinking of the certificate

That had come with his last stiletto.

He'd climbed up a ladder

To store it out of reach of the concert

Of questions it would provoke. He'd heard that concert

Before. The less they suspected about his hobby
The better. So in the cabinet at the top of the ladder,
Behind the sugar,
Was his stiletto
Collection, each with its certificate

Of authenticity. Sometimes he'd read each certificate
Aloud, like a concert,
For each stiletto.
But now it was time to focus on his true hobby.
So he replaced the sugar
And climbed down the ladder.

Can any certificate justify this hobby?
Killing in concert, after licking the blood-sugar
Off his stiletto, and then descending the ladder.

Day Twenty-four

Today's words:

Whiteboard

Reform

Russia

Warehouse

Bead

Cafe

The teacher wiped clean the.whiteboard

And wrote one word large: REFORM

"What does this word mean to you, children of Russia?"

She asked. Anya, whose parents were stuffed away in some warehouse

Somewhere, turned the hard bead

Of her gaze forward. "Does it mean my parents can open a cafe?"

The teacher wrote the word cafe

On the whiteboard.

"What else?" she pursued. 'Or is that a bead

"In your head instead of a brain? This is real reform.

"Not just a restocking of the warehouse

"But change for all of Russia."

Ah, yes, Russia:

Where a girl can dream of opening a cafe

Although her parents are imprisoned in a warehouse

Of "undesirables," and a teacher uses a whiteboard

To preach reform

While a firing squad draws a bead

On an innocent man. As sweat begins to bead

On his brow he cries out, "Russia!

"All I ever wanted was to reform

"Your system. To go into a cafe

"Like any other person and share my knowledge using a whiteboard

"Instead of being confined in a warehouse."

For they were quite the talented group in that warehouse:

A university professor, a poet, a bead

Designer, a doctor. Their names not noted on any whiteboard

Or even mentioned in conversation in Russia.

In the cafe

All anyone talked of was reform.

Do you think reform

Is possible in a country that saw fit to warehouse

Some of its most brilliant citizens? To ban them from their cafe,

While they clutched their hope like the bead

Of a rosary, praying that Russia

Would efface the whiteboard

Of its wrongheaded "reform?" Hold onto that bead

Of hope that you'll be freed from the warehouse, that Russia

Will re-open the cafe and let the professor return to the whiteboard.

Day Twenty-three

Today's words:

Slipper

Ferry

Concert

Peanut

Fall

Bill

Like a slipper

Warming a chilled foot, the ferry

Glided into the port, accompanied by the usual concert

Of gulls, hoping someone would throw a peanut

Or hot dog end. Then, swooping, they'd try to catch it on the fall,

The morsel winding up in one lucky bill.

Once I found a ten dollar bill

Stuffed inside a slipper.

No idea why I'd hidden it there. Perhaps I was expecting to fall

From my relatively comfortable perch. No more ferry

Rides for me, and only peanut

Butter sandwiches for dinner. And I'll skip the concert.

My friend's band is giving a concert

Tonight. There's no bill

To get in, but I'm bringing a box of peanut

Butter cookies. Like Cinderella and her glass slipper

I'll squeeze myself onto the ferry

And hope I don't fall

Off the edge. I think Fall

Is the best time of year for a concert

It's still warm enough to take the ferry.

Relax, I'll take care of the bill.

You sit back in this slipper

Chair, and munch on a peanut.

Her little dog wasn't much bigger than a peanut.

And she had to be careful it didn't fall

Off the bed. Sometimes it would drag a slipper

Down the hall, or treat us to a concert

Of whining. I paid its vet bill

Once, after it got seasick on the ferry.

"Crossing Brooklyn Ferry"

Is one if my favorite poems, but you can keep the peanut

Clusters. Send the bill

To my hotel; I'll not fall

For your tricks again. You can call me after the concert.

I'll be looking for my other slipper.

I love to take the ferry in the Fall

And eat a peanut as I listen to the concert

Of the gulls, crying silliness, like, "Bill!" or, "Slipper!"

Day Twenty-two

Today's words:

Teacher

Robot

Prank

Card

Pillar

Pill

It isn't easy being a teacher.

You've got to avoid seeming like a robot.

You know one kid will always pull a prank

On you. But sometimes you'll get a nice card.

That makes it easier to be a pillar

Of society, rather than simply a pill.

But she really was a pill

My first teacher.

Like Lot's wife, I'd've turned her into a pillar

Of salt if I could have. She spoke like a robot.

I dreaded my report card

And dreamed of a prank

To get her with. Nothing mean, just a harmless prank,

Just to let her know what a pill

She was. A warning, like a yellow card

In football. Just to remind the teacher

I'm not a robot.

I'm no pillar

Either, but who wants to be a pillar?

You couldn't pull a prank.

You're basically a robot.

Unfortunately there's no pill

To take for that. So listen to the teacher

And pray for a good report card.

And now I'm grown, a card-

Carrying pillar

Of my field. Was it because I had a good teacher?

Or has someone played a prank

On me, giving me a pill

To turn me into a robot?

Because sometimes I feel like a robot.

As I hand out my business card

I wonder if there's a pill

To change me back from a pillar

To the kid who wanted to prank

Her teacher.

So which is it, a robot or a pillar?

A nice card or a mischievous prank?

A bitter pill or a thoughtful teacher?

Day Twenty-one

Today's words:
teacher
false teeth
escape
end
glasses
bundle

My kindergarten teacher
Was scary. She was old, and had false teeth.
But there was no escape -
I was now in the school system. No telling when that would end.
She also had big glasses.
She was just a bundle

Of creepiness. I was only four years old then. I carried a bundle
Of my things with me at all times. My teacher
Didn't like that. She stared at me through her glasses
And her false teeth
Whistled as she said, "We're putting an end
"To this. Leave it home." Oh, how I longed to escape!

My best friend tried to escape
By running away from home with all her things in a bundle.
In the end
They caught her, but she did get a new teacher.
My mother said I shouldn't mind the false teeth
And forget about the glasses.

But still they bothered me. Then the doctor said I needed glasses.
Things went from bad to worse. Later I would escape
Through reading, but I really couldn't yet. I pictured her false teeth
Out of her mouth, in a bundle
By the side of her bed. Yes, that teacher
Scared me, but in the end

I suppose she was OK. In the end
I got used to wearing glasses
And wasn't as afraid of my teacher.
I stopped trying to escape
And left my bundle
At home. Only the false teeth

Still creeped me out. I bought a set of those wind-up false teeth
That chatter and left them on the end
Of her desk. That wasn't nice. I was certainly no bundle
Of joy either. Looking back through the glasses
Of time, I'm sure she longed to escape 
From her life as a teacher.

Yes, even with the false teeth and glasses
In the end we all want to escape
Our everyday bundle of care, but experience is a harsh teacher.

Day Twenty

Today's words:

Enzyme

Belt

Fertilizer

Factory

Pad

Cheat

The last thing he remembered was putting the enzyme

Packet on the belt

In the fertilizer

Factory.

Then everything went black. Something must have acted as a pad

To shield him from the blast, enabling him to cheat

Death. He escaped, but felt like a cheat,

When so many others had died. He was incredibly lucky; the enzyme

He was packing expanded in the heat and acted as a pad

Sheltering him under the belt

In the factory.

The main explosion was in the fertilizer

Warehouse. Later he read, "Texas Fertilizer

Plant Explosion No Accident." No surprises there - he knew what a cheat

The owner was. The whole factory

Had lots of code violations and at least one enzyme

Used was so dangerous only special technicians could work that belt.

He'd seen them pad

Their expense reports, and assure inspectors that a pad

Of air filters separated workers from exposure to fertilizer

Fumes on the belt.

Not true. But what does a cheat

Matter, when your only job choice is working the enzyme

Line in the factory?

And what happened to the owners of that factory?

Of course they used their corporate status as a pad,

Protecting them from any responsibility for the enzyme

Workers' injuries, or the deaths at the fertilizer

Plant of those who tried to help. One more business looking to cheat

Workers and keep them at the belt

Even when there's a fire next door. He'd stayed at his belt

On the factory

Floor. They weren't going to cheat

Him out of his pay. They'd said in the past he'd tried to pad

His hours. But he knew their fertilizer

Didn't contain the enzyme

They claimed. That belt was out that day. Idled, a pad

On the factory floor. Still the fertilizer

Went out, with the cheat of a missing enzyme.

Day Nineteen

Today's words:

Frog

Sale

Planet

Task

Coronet

Farm

I found a crazy little ceramic frog

At the yard sale

I went to yesterday. On what planet

Do people think that's cute? But I've no right to take others to task.

Not while my mom wears her coronet

While tending the farm.

And back on the farm,

Just like a frog-

Prince can wear a coronet,

A humble crop can lead to a big sale,

Although in this life there's always another task

To be done, as long as we're on this planet.

And in the interest of the planet

We don't use pesticides on our farm.

Sure, it's an additional task

To tend to, but one look at our prize frog

From last year will tell you it's worth it. That sale

Alone could pay for a classic car, like a Dodge Coronet.

Fine, sit on your throne wearing your coronet.

This planet

Isn't for sale.

I'm going back to the farm

To tend the new frog

And the last task

Of the day. One more task

In that long list. But I wear the coronet

Of Top Frog

Breeder on the planet.

Although I still think about putting the farm

Up for sale.

One more sale,

One more task.

I'm tired, but not yet ready to buy the farm.

My mom's coronet

Reminds me that on this planet

No human is better than a frog.

In making the sale of this dented coronet

I accept the task this planet

Has set for me: running a farm to produce the perfect frog.

Day Eighteen

Today's words:

Courage

Skirt

Promotion

Lighthouse

Exile

Headline

Back in the day it took courage

To put on a skirt

Every morning and go fight amongst the boys for that promotion

Always looking for the lighthouse

Of safety and avoiding the exile

That befell many of us. We wanted to headline

A team, not wind up a tabloid headline.

But who today has that courage?

Not that it's needed any more. You won't be sent to exile

For wearing a skirt

And the lighthouse

Is easy to spot; your promotion

Is assured. I remember when a promotion

Like that got you a headline:

"Female exec reaches lighthouse"

Because none of the boys had that courage.

But they didn't need it. They'd never worn a skirt

Or faced exile

For breaking with tradition. And now I'm in exile

For not going after that promotion.

I guess I didn't want it enough. Let's not skirt

The issue. I didn't seek a headline

Like that. Maybe I lacked courage

But I prefer to believe my lighthouse

Was on another shore. That lighthouse

A beacon, calling me in from that exile

Of pretend courage

And fighting with the boys over a promotion

I didn't really care about anyway. There's your headline:

"Exec in skirt

"Walks away" That's right. I gathered up my skirt

And climbed to the top of the lighthouse

Watching the headline

Of the sea, where the others, striving to return from exile,

Wrecked themselves grappling for a meaningless promotion.

I'd call mine a different type of courage.

Just as wearing a skirt can be a form of exile

So can a false lighthouse seem to lead to a promotion

That really isn't one. Leaving a one-word headline: "Courage!"

Day Seventeen

Today's words:

Race

Luggage

Chimney

Accident

Fan

Lido

"Slow down! This isn't a race.

"And mind where you put that luggage.

"I don't want to find it in the fireplace, covered in chimney

"Ash like last time. I know that was an accident

"But I'm no fan

"Of yours anyway. I'm going out to the lido

"For a swim." But the lido

Was crowded; it seems there was a race

Of some sort. Going back would only fan

The flames of the luggage-

Boy's ardor - an easily avoided accident.

We don't want any smoke coming from that chimney.

Back in the room, the boy looked up the chimney.

He knew what was going on at the lido.

A tragic accident,

Hardly a race.

He left the luggage

Arrayed in the shape of a fan.

And picking up the bellows, he used them to fan

A small fire in the fireplace, smoke going up the chimney.

She'd be chilled when she returned to her luggage

After being out on the lido,

Easpecially if she discovered that the race

Was in fact an accident.

But sometime's there's what's called a happy accident.

Sometimes a fan

Will win the race

From the chimney

To the lido,

Even encumbered by luggage.

"Pack up the luggage.

"There's been an accident

"Down at the lido."

"I know. I was a fan

"Of his. I'd left my chimney

"To go watch the race"

In stowing the luggage, a fan

Fell out of one of the bags by accident. It landed near the chimney,

Reminding her of that day at the lido and what wasn't a race.

Day Sixteen

Today's words:

Cartridge

Flywheel

Nanny

Jump

Hooligan

Lemonade

"The ink is in the cartridge

"And flows when needed, like a flywheel

"Stores energy for future use." "Very good," said Nanny,

"Now jump

"Down and let's head home. If you don't act the hooligan

"Too much we'll have a glass of lemonade

"When we get there." She made the lemonade

By putting a cartridge

Of powder in a machine. Meanwhile Jake, the hooligan

Next door, showed off, using the flywheel

On his bike to power a jump

Over the hedge while his nanny

Looked on helplessly. My own nanny

Would never allow such antics. Withholding lemonade

Was the least of her weapons. A well-placed shout could make you jump

Out of your skin, and I once saw her load a cartridge

Into a shotgun.  The next day Jake's flywheel

Was all shot up. But what do you expect to happen to a hooligan?

He's bound to have bad acquaintances. "A hooligan

Will get his just desserts," said Nanny,

And I didn't doubt it. I'd seen what became of his flywheel.

So I was good, and drank my lemonade

And put a new cartridge

In my game console. It was a game where you had to jump

Over a pit of fire. If you missed the jump

The police arrested you as a hooligan.

"Enough play," said Nanny,

"Give me the cartridge.

"And I'll make you a glass of lemonade.

"Now go have a look at that flywheel."

But the flywheel

Wasn't working, so I took a jump

Off the bike. Last summer I had a lemonade

Stand, but some hooligan

Ran off with my money. I went home to Nanny

With nothing but an empty cartridge.

If you need to use the energy stored in the flywheel, like a hooligan

Does to make the jump, then it's likely your nanny

Has something other than lemonade in that cartridge.

Day Fifteen

Today's words:

Mobile phone

Fall

Loan

Creeper

Seed

Beer

"I hear there's an amazing new mobile phone

"Due out this fall.

"It's so expensive you'll need a loan

"To afford it. Or you can just be a creeper

"And plant a seed

"In your old man's head when he's lost in his beer."

"Nah, I'll just have another beer.

"I don't really need a new mobile phone.

"My whole garden's gone to seed.

"Come fall

"There'll be nothing left except that creeper

"Vine. I'll need someone to loan

Me a mower to take it all down." "Well I could use a loan

"For this next beer.

"I'm no creeper, sneaking around looking for a mobile phone

"To steal and sell for cash. I'll not fall

That low." "Ha! I'm in commodities now - buying seed

"Corn futures. No idea what that seed

"Would actually do if I took delivery, but they gave me a loan

"To make my first trades. When prices fall

"I win somehow, so have a beer

"On me. And put away your mobile phone

"There's a creeper

Eyeing it from the end of the bar." "How did you get rid of that creeper

"Last night? The one who said he 'seed'

"A nice new mobile phone

"In your future?" "Ha! I promised to loan

"Him a grammar book and sent him back to his beer.

"I know eventually he'll take a fall.

"And when it comes he's going to fall

"Hard, like many a creeper

"Before him. Out in search of beer,

"Looking for the seed

"Of a loan

"Or maybe to steal another mobile phone."

Yep, come fall we'll be storing the seed

For planting, hoping no creeper will come looking for a loan

For beer or a new mobile phone.

Day Fourteen

Today's words:

Stage

Lover

Fairy

Novice

Tears

Stomach

Enter stage

Left, Oberon, consort and sometime lover

Of Titania, and fairy

King. "Oy, this novice

"Who's plaing him is awful. It tears

"At my stomach

"To watch." "Well my stomach

"Is empty. Go to the Stage

"Deli and get me a sandwich. Why the tears?

"Did your lover

"Run off with another novice?

"Or have you been visited by a bad fairy?

"Feh, screw the fairy.

"There's nothing wrong with your stomach

"That a pastrami on rye can't fix. Trust me - I'm no novice

"At this. I've been on the stage

"Practically my whole life. You'll find a new lover

"And forget all about those tears.

"Now look how Titania really tears

"Into her lines. She's a true fairy

"Queen. She doesn't need a pale lover

"Like that Oberon. You can see she's got the stomach

"For this part. I remember her first turn on the stage

"When she was just a novice.

"But even as a novice

"She had something. She was even funny, and moved us all to tears

"Of laughter. You forgot this was just a play on stage

"And believed the story of the fairy

"Queen falling for Bottom, who'd normally turn her stomach,

"But now almost her lover.

"Here now Oberon, her usual lover,

"Is just another simpering novice.

"I can't stomach

"His false tears

"He'll never make us believe he's the fairy

"King and not just another poseur on the stage."

And just as a jilted lover spills tears

That would elude a novice, so one really needs a fairy

Godmother to have the stomach to succeed on stage.

Day Thirteen

Today's words:

Minute

Catastrophe

Spanner

Union

Strategy

Film

In less than a minute

What was going so well can collapse into catastrophe

As easily as a spanner

Can undo the union

Between nut and bolt. But there must be a strategy

Out there to save this film.

So far, all they've got on film

Is a fifty-two minute

Montage of scenes. There's no strategy

Or plot. It's already a catastrophe

And they haven't even approached the union.

That's bound to throw a monkey wrench (spanner

For you UK types) into the works. But maybe a spanner

Is just what this film

Needs. Something to forge a union

Out of the ninety minute

Catastrophe

They've got now. Perhaps that's their strategy.

An accidental strategy

Certainly, but no less likely to work than the right-sized spanner

Can avert a catastrophe.

It could convert this film

From a minute

Footnote into a powerful union

Of acting and directing talent. A union

Based on a strategy

Meant to make each minute

Reach the next, like a spanner

Fuses two parts, making the film

A masterpiece, rather than a catastrophe.

"Citizen Kane" was originally judged a catastrophe,

And so it may be here. The union

Of these seemingly unrelated bits of film

Can give birth to a strategy.

We need something to act as a bridge, or spanner.

It'll take only a minute.

Just as out of catastrophe a strategy 

Can emerge, so can a union of these scenes be bridged by a spanner

And a marketable film created in under a minute.

Day Twelve

Today's words:

Tiger

Legs

Tank

Lasso

Calculator

Napkin

Just as a tiger

Walks on four legs,

So the air in the tank

Allows the old woman to breathe, throwing a lasso

Around the calculator

Of her mind, keeping her thoughts clear. She applies a napkin

To her lips. She looks at the napkin.

Her lipstick has left tiger

Stripes on it. The result is on the calculator:

The legs are a lasso,

Drawing another one into the tank.

But what if the plan should tank?

I'll shred the napkin,

And unknot the lasso.

No one will ever know how we stalked the tiger

Until heaviness possessed our legs.

I've run the simulations through the calculator.

And who are you? The calculator

Of our fates? You know the fish in the tank

Have no legs.

So look down at your napkin

While I help the tiger

To evade your lasso.

I know you catch souls with that lasso.

And you believe destiny is merely a giant calculator.
Remember that old gas ad about putting a tiger

In your tank?

Don't think that your doodles on this napkin

Have any legs.

The girl's legs

Went out from under her, caught in his lasso,

While he used the napkin

As a makeshift calculator

To figure the dimensions of the tank

He'd need built to contain the tiger.

Legs, if used properly, can act as a calculator,

But otherwise are as useless as throwing a lasso around a fish tank

Or using a napkin to try to catch a tiger.

Day Eleven

Today's words:

License

Gamble

Pile

Dinner

Prophet

Chip

Out here you don't need a license

To place bets or to gamble

At all. You could win a pile

Even before we're called to dinner.

"Trust me," said the prophet,

"It all starts with this chip."

So I picked up the chip

And considered it my license

To heed the prophet.

I was willing to gamble

All of the money I had for dinner

On hopes of winning a pile

Of cash. Yes, I'd make a pile

Of my winnings, all starting with this one chip.

And later, at dinner,

I'd explain that I hadn't needed a license

To gamble,

Only the words of the prophet.

For how often does a prophet

Promise you'll win a pile

If only you'll trust him and gamble

Your future on one chip?

I know he had no license

And invited him for dinner.

And while we were at dinner,

This man, who called himself a prophet,

Revealed that once he'd had a license

But lost it after he caused a ten-car pile

Up on the freeway after he swerved to catch a chip

So he could go back to the casino and gamble

Some more. Yes, it's often a gamble

When you invite strangers to dinner.

Their words can chip

Away at your beliefs, like a false prophet

Promising you a pile

To be won without a license.

So don't gamble on an unknown prophet;

He's only looking for dinner. You won't make a pile

Out of one chip, even with a license.

Day Ten

Today's words

Powder

Surface

Research

Stardom

Lollipop

Goose

She drew the pad across the powder

In the compact, lifting a fine dust off its surface

Which she applied to her nose. "Have you seen the latest research?"

She asked, "All this buzz about my stardom?

"It's as useful to me as a lollipop

"Is to a goose."

Her daughter clutched a pillow stuffed with goose

Down that had been crushed to a powder

And sucked a cherry lollipop.

All her feelings were on the surface -

She knew nothing of stardom

And couldn't read the research.

Just as in the name of research

Some scientists electrocuted a goose,

So the machine that is stardom

Crushes souls to a powder

Leaving the surface

As smooth as a lollipop

"Here's your reward, a lollipop,"

The scientists said at the conclusion of their research.

The girl seemed untroubled on the surface

But what she'd seen them do to the goose

Would coat all her feelings with an invisible powder

That some said would lead to stardom.

For there's a certain type made for stardom.

Someone who can make the simple act of sucking a lollipop

Seem as tantalizing as sniffing a white powder.

I'm only doing research,

You silly goose,

Into what it would be like on the surface.

And when, coming up from under, I surface

At the peak of stardom

It won't take a goose

To know that this lollipop

Has been shown through research

To be composed of that white powder.

Just as on the surface a lollipop

Is an innocent candy, so stardom does its own research

To demand a goose down puff for the powder.