Day Eighty-nine

Today's words:

Jug

Vice

Bomb

Scallop

Fare

Wave

I grabbed a jug

Of ale. If drink is a vice

Then I am guilty. I'm sure that's no bomb-

Shell. Are you having the scallop

Chowder or some other fare?

I'm leaving - wave

Goodbye. Or wave

Down the bartender and get another jug

Of ale. The fare

Tonight is pretty good, even if gluttony is a vice.

However, that scallop

Pie is now a bomb

In my stomach. When the bomb

Went off, the shock wave

From the blast blew the scallop

Tank into the next room. And the jug

Of ale shattered.  The vice

Squad was late. Perhaps they hadn't paid their fare.

How dd you fare

After the bomb

Blast? Did the vice

Squad wave

You down? Did you take the jug

With you? And what about the scallop

Pie? Scallop

Gratin is on today's bill of fare.

That and a jug

Of ale will do nicely. Just call in a bomb

Threat if you don't want to go. I'll wave

A white flag. Cowardice may be a vice

But it's my vice.

I found a scallop

Shell washed up by a wave

And tried to use it to pay my fare.

I might as well have planted a bomb.

They acted like I'd stolen a jug

Of their finest liquor, or accused them of another vice. It's only a fare.

And it was a scallop shell, not a bomb.

I'll wave goodbye as I walk off with the jug.

Day Eighty-eight

Today's words:

Laundry

Scar

Pants

Hamburger

Grade

Trade

Years of doing laundry

Have left a scar.

It's not just the pants

Stained with hamburger

Grease. It's a lower grade

Overall and time for a trade.

I'd trade

A lot to get out of doing laundry.

It's like a below-grade

Scar

Caused by a hamburger

Grease burn through a pair of pants.

And now I'm flying by the seat of my pants.

I'll trade

You a hamburger

If you do the laundry.

It left a scar

When I didn't get the grade.

I once got a failing grade

In school for wearing pants.

My years there have left such a scar.

I'd gladly trade

My laundry

For your hamburger.

A hamburger

Can't be used to make a grade.

If you're going to do laundry

Please take my pants

With you. I'll trade

You for that scar.

The scar

On my arm is caused by hamburger

Grease. If you won't trade

For a better grade

I'll take these pants

To the laundry.

The scar left by a poor grade

Can't be removed by a hamburger or a new pair of pants,

But you can trade it for the laundry.

Day Eighty-seven

Today's words:

Butter

Muscle

Hail

Old man

Curtain

Blanket

The butter

Glistened like oil on the muscle.

As the hail

Pelted down the old man

Peered around the curtain

And drew the blanket

Around his shoulders but the blanket

Slid to the floor and pooled like melted butter.

Behind the curtain,

Flexing a muscle,

The old man

Stared out at the hail.

As the hail

Rained down, under the blanket

The old man

Rubbed butter

On his sore muscle

As he peered through the curtain.

On the other side of the curtain

The hail

Let up. His muscle

Still sore, he drew the blanket

Tighter and rubbed more butter.

This being an old man

Stuff sucks. Being an old man

Was never his idea. He drew the curtain

And put away the butter

As the hail

Melted outside. He clutched the blanket

And rubbed his muscle.

That sore muscle

Reminded him he was an old man

Wrapped in a blanket.

On the other side of the curtain

The hail

Melted and was the color of butter.

He used his muscle to push back the curtain,

Just an old man looking out at hail,

Wrapped in a blanket and slathered in butter.

Day Eighty-six

Today's words:

Meadow

Bribe

Hospital

Teacher

Computer

Verb

I waited in the meadow

While you paid a bribe

To the doctor at the hospital.

You wanted him to tell the teacher

She had to stay so she couldn't give the computer

Science final, but he had another verb

In mind, a verb 

That would chase me down in the meadow.

Who cares about a stupid computer

Test enough to try to bribe

A doctor to lie to a teacher

In the hospital

Where he works? To lie in a hospital?

I guess that verb

Fits as well as any, and the teacher

Isn't any the wiser. Meanwhile, in the meadow

I'm worrying about your bribe.

Somehow the computer

Is sure to catch on. The computer

Will know what's going on at the hospital.

It won't accept a bribe.

That's one verb

Not in its vocabulary. So I stay in the meadow

And wait for the teacher.

Why am I waiting for the teacher?

Will the computer

Sound the alarm? Coming straight to the meadow

From the hospital,

Alerted by the verb

To bribe.

To bribe

A teacher

Is wrong, that verb

Doesn't work there. The computer

Alerted the hospital

To what was up, so they've come to the meadow.

You can't bribe a computer

To keep the teacher in the hospital.

That's not the right verb in this meadow.

Day Eighty-five

Today's words:

Arrow

Lentil

Bib

Harp

Farm

Soup

The arrow

Split the lentil.

That's how good a shot he was. I tied on a bib

While you played the harp

And he went down to the farm

To get the soup

For dinner. He came back with the soup

And a bow and arrow

Over his shoulder. He'd brought them from the farm

As well. The lentil

Was shattered on the ground as you strummed your harp.

He tied on a bib

And you put on your bib

As he served out the soup.

The harp

Lay discarded with the bow and arrow.

"And now," he said, "it's time for lentil

"Milling down on the farm"

Down on the farm,

Protected by a bib,

He began the lentil

Milling. I gathered up the soup

Bowls, the bow and arrow,

And the harp.

You picked up the harp

When I got to the farm

With it, and he the bow and arrow.

I tore off my bib

And washed out the soup

Tureen, throwing a stray lentil

To the ground, a lentil

That had gone unbeaten. You strummed the harp

As I washed the soup

Dishes there on the farm.

Then I folded my bib

And placed it under an arrow.

I miss lentil milling on the farm

Accompanied by the harp. I'd wear a bib

For protection and then we'd make soup stirred with an arrow.

Day Eighty-four

Today's words:

Cave

Survey

Pill

Window

Graduate

Calm

The men descended into the cave
To begin the survey.
I watched them, swallowing a pill,
As I sat at the window.
Next month I'd start graduate
School, so I was trying to stay calm.

The men seemed very calm
As they entered the cave.
The graduate
School survey
I'd taken did leave me a window
Of time to get my papers in. It was still a pill.

I'm trying not to be a pill
And to stay calm
Here at the window
But the cave
Scares me and I worry about the men doing the survey.
I know the leader is a graduate

Of a very prestigious school, one that I someday hope to graduate
From.  But for now I'd need to take a tranquilizing pill
To enable me to go down there for the survey.
There's no other way I could stay calm
In a cave,
Which is why I'm staying here at the window.

I opened the window
And called to the graduate
Leader. "Be careful in that cave,"
I called, "Do you need a pill
"To help stay calm?"
He shook his head and went on the with the survey.

And now the results of the survey
Are in. I read them, perched at the window.
I'm very calm
And ready to start graduate
School. I'll just take one more pill
And have a peek in that cave.

The survey done by the graduate
Scholars was very thorough. I closed the window, swallowed the pill,
And went into the calm of the cave.

Day Eighty-three

Today's words:

Lead

Tornado

Curlers

Cucumber

Copier

Exam

The sky was the color of lead

And there was a tornado

Alert. My hair was still in curlers

And I was slicing a cucumber

But when the alert sounded I ran out past the copier

Knowing we'd have to postpone the exam.

Remember the exam

That you filled out with a number two lead

Pencil? I don't think they do that any more, and it's a copier,

Not a mimeograph machine. Yes, I'm old. The tornado

Watch was cancelled, thankfully, and I went back to the cucumber

And took my hair out of the curlers.

At beauty school, correct rolling of curlers

Was part of the final exam.

I finished making the cucumber

Salad while you lead

Everyone out of the cellar where they'd been hiding from the tornado.

Then you went over to the copier

To run off papers. But the copier

Needed toner. I put away the curlers

And then the tornado

Alarm sounded again. I guess an exam

Of the data revealed there was still a risk, so you lead

Everyone back down. I brought the cucumber

Salad this time. We ate the cucumber salad

While you looked for toner for the copier.

There was a lady with a little dog on a lead

And another woman with her hair in curlers.

I don't think they'd all come for the exam

But they happened to be in the office when the tornado

Warning sounded. It seemed like the tornado

Had passed us. The cellar smelled like cucumber.

We went back up and began to prepare for the exam.

You put the toner in the copier.

The lady in curlers

Walked out with the woman and her dog on a lead.

Two tornado warnings in an hour. The copier

Was working now and the cucumber and curlers

Were put away. The exam could begin but the sky still looked like lead.

.

Day Eighty-two

Today's words:

Gallery

Refugee

Kite

Spark

Kiss

Generator

Wow! I stood in the gallery

Feeling like a refugee

Watching a boy flying a kite.

I still felt the spark

From your kiss

Like a generator.

And like a generator

I needed a gallery

In order to feel your kiss.

I'm not a refugee

And there is no spark

But do let me fly a kite.

And like a kite

I need a generator

To create a spark

And to keep me from the gallery.

I'm not a refugee.

Just let me feel your kiss.

Kiss

Me. And then let's go fly a kite.

I'm no refugee

And no generator

Is needed in the gallery

To set off a spark.

And like a spark

A kiss

Can be hung in a gallery

It doesn't need a kite

Or a generator.

But you go ahead and live like a refugee.

I'm just a refugee

Fleeing the spark

Of the generator

That is your kiss.

I saw a kite

Yesterday, above the gallery.

How many times do I have to be a refugee from a kiss?

Just like a spark can ignite a kite

A generator can blow up an entire gallery.

Day Eighty-one

Today's words:

Blanket

Decay

Meadow

Picnic

Barrier

China

I shivered on the blanket

Feeling a sense of decay.

All I'd wanted was to go out to the meadow

For a simple picnic

But your coldness threw up a barrier

Between us as real as the Great Wall of China.

I'd set out my mother's china

On the blanket

Hoping to create a porcelain barrier

Against the inevitable decay

To which all life is subject, so we could enjoy a picnic

In this sunny meadow.

At first it was lovely in the meadow,

Eating off of china

Plates and enjoying our picnic

With everything spread out on the blanket.

But then your thoughts turned to the decay

Of our relationship, erecting an invisible barrier

Between us, a barrier

No-one else in the meadow

Could see. But there was no escaping that decay,

Not even if I dug all the way to China.

Might as well lie back on the blanket

And pretend to be enjoying the picnic.

The picnic

Was my idea; I'd hoped it would break down the barrier

Between us. But now, lying miserably on the blanket

In this sunny meadow, 

I saw it had been a mistake. You might as well have been in China,

You were so far away, and I could almost smell the decay

Around us, a decay

Not even a springtime picnic

And my mother's china

Could hold back. No barrier

Could separate it from us, here in the meadow

On a blanket.

Decay erects a barrier

Between the living and the dead. Life's no picnic in a meadow

But it's better than the alternative, even with china and a blanket.

Day Eighty

Today's words:

Clay

Frost

Perfume

Honey

Fall

Toes

The sky was the color of clay.

There was a frost

Predicted, and the perfume

In the air smelled like honey.

No doubt about it, Fall

Was coming. I could feel it in my toes.

My toes

Were chilled, and the clay-

Colored sky almost looked as if it might fall.

"Let's get in before the frost,"

I suggested, "And have some tea with honey.

"The perfume

Alone will be relaxing." As I inhaled that honeyed perfume

I felt warmth spreading down to my toes.

"Did you check on the chickens, honey?"

I asked. "We want to be sure there's enough clay

"In their yard to offset the frost.

"I'm not losing any this Fall."

Because Fall,

Even if it does have a nice perfume

Can be deadly. A sudden frost

Can kill off chickens and leave your toes

Digging into the clay.

Never mind the smell of honey

In the air. "Are you all right, honey?"

I called, just as I saw you start to fall,

Hands grasping at the clay-

Laden ground. The smell of perfume

Suddenly dissipated and my toes

Curled, like in response to a killing frost.

And just as the frost

Crystallizes the rest of the honey,

So I felt my toes

Throb as I watched you fall,

Through the perfume

And onto the clay.

Frost on the ground can cause a fall,

Just as honey can be the top note in a perfume,

But in the end we all have toes and feet of clay.

Day Seventy-nine

Today's words:

Bell

Button

Straw

Gym

Calculator

Dance

The bell

Rang to change classes. I pushed the button

On my computer and sucked on the straw

Of my soda to finish it. Off to gym

Class. And then math. I've got my calculator.

Can't wait for tonight's dance.

And when Robby comes to pick me up for the dance,

My mom will answer the doorbell.

It doesn't take a calculator

To know which button

To push there. Later, in the gym,

We'll sip punch through a straw.

Looks like I drew the short straw

Here. There'll be no dance

For me. A sprained ankle in gym

Today will keep me away. When I heard the bell

Ring I jumped up but didn't land on the button.

Guess my mental calculator

Wasn't quite working. Robby's calculator

Was working, however. He drew a long straw.

When he saw me fall, he pulled out his phone and pushed the button.

He was still going to that dance,

Just not with me. He thought he'd been saved by the bell.

He didn't know what was going to happen in that gym.

When the smoke started to fill the gym.

One of the teachers tried to use a calculator

To figure out what to do. Then the fire alarm bell

Went off and a bale of straw

That had been a decoration caught fire. The dance

Turned to panic. People pounded on the exit button

To get out, but the doors were locked. The button

Was stuck. The gym

Became a pyre for the dance

Attendees. I totaled the damages on my calculator.

The building went up like straw.

And the alarm bell

Was too late. I pushed the equal button on my calculator,

Glad I hadn't made it to the gym, glad I'd drawn the short straw

And missed the dance. In a way, I was saved by the bell.

Day Seventy-eight

Today's words:

Verb

Parlor

Decorator

Garlic

Stone

Baby

"To worry" is a verb,

And that's what I was doing as I stood in the parlor

With this supposed "interior decorator"

A friend had suggested.  His breath reeked of garlic

And his heart seemed made of stone,

But his baby-

Smooth face suggested cosmetic surgery. "Baby,"

He'd said to me, "I don't just decorate. I prefer a stronger verb,

"Like inspire." I was feeling as inspired as a stone

As I stood in the parlor

Listening to the garlic-

Scented ravings of this decorator.

I hadn't even wanted to hire a decorator,

But after I lost the baby,

Friends thought it would cheer me up. But now the smell of garlic

Was making me ill. I think "to nauseate" would be the correct verb.

Now he's suggesting we paint the parlor

"The color of a lovely volcanic stone,"

Whatever that means. Still, I was feeling less like a stone.

At least I'll give this decorator

That. His nuttiness as he discussed his ideas for my parlor

Made me feel something I hadn't felt since losing the baby.

In fact I hadn't really felt anything since then. I don't know what verb

Could be used to describe it, and despite his garlic-

Infused breath I was suddenly hungry. I used to love to cook with garlic,

But since then everything had tasted like stone. 

Was "to grieve" the correct verb

To explain what I'd been doing? If so, perhaps this decorator

Had jostled me out of the grief I'd been carrying since the baby

Died. And the miscarriage had started right in this parlor,

Which is why I'd thought to redo the parlor

In the first place. The garlic

Odor had dissipated some. "Baby,"

He said, turning towards me, "Not even a stone

"Could be unmoved by this. Remember, I'm not a decorator -
"I inspire!" But I had another verb

In mind, yet I agreed to paint my parlor a stone

Color and went along with the garlic-scented decorator,

If only to get my mind off the baby and go back to being an active verb.

Day Seventy-seven

Today's words:

Farm

Game

Thermostat

Dance

Hope

Leaf

And in today's Farm

News, Game

Of Thrones is back! Better turn up the thermostat,

There's a cold blast coming from the north. But don't skip the dance

Because of it! We all really hope

You'll turn out.  Turn over a new leaf

And start socializing more. Looks like the tobacco leaf

Bug will be reappearing on the farm

This spring, but we still hope

Not. It's not a game

Keeping these insects at bay, and the delicate dance

We perform to do so will push anyone's thermostat

Up. Some people use a thermostat

To predict the emergence of the tobacco leaf

Bug. It's like a dance - 

The bug likes a cool spring on the farm

But too cold temps put it off its game.

So we just have to hope

That it stays cold and hope

The thermostat

Stays low. The playoff game

Is next week and it looks like that leaf

The team took off the farm

Will get them into the dance.

Don't you wish we could just dance

Our problems away? Let's all hope

For a good season on the farm.

Between the thermostat

And the tobacco leaf

Bug, this game

Isn't fun any more. After the big game

There will be a dance

At the Lions Club hall. Pull a cabbage leaf

Out of your wallet and support our teams, who all hope

You'll turn out. Just set your thermostat

Before leaving the farm.

Should be a great game. And that's today's news from Hope,

Arkansas. Looking forward to that dance, especially if the thermostat

Cooperates in keeping the tobacco leaf bug off the farm.

Day Seventy-six

Today's words:

Sunburn

Prince

Cow

Color

Navel

Vice

I got an awful sunburn

From waiting outside for a glimpse of the Prince,

But all I saw a was a cow

The color

Of sand. I may as well have stayed inside contemplating my navel.

That's my secret vice.

And that would also be my advice

To you: Avoid sunburn,

Gaze at your navel.

It's more likely to tell you something than is a prince

Who'll only color

Your dreams. You might as well talk to a cow.

But the cow

Is practically perfect. It has no vice

That we know of; evil thoughts don't color

Its ambitions and its skin doesn't sunburn.

Stay away from that prince

Who worships only his own navel.

And from my navel

I felt heat radiating outwards. Krishna had a cow,

And is a prince.

He does, however, know vice.

Does blue skin sunburn?

Or does its color

Protect it? What is the color

Of his navel?

Does he even have one? And can it sunburn?

That's why the cow is sacred.

It keeps vice

Away from the prince

Of peace, the prince

Of the color

Blue. It's not a vice

To meditate on one's navel.

Sit in the shade next to the cow

And you'll avoid a sunburn.

As the Prince contemplated his navel,

The blue color of the sky spread to the cow,

Saving it from the vice of sunburn.

Day Seventy-five

Today's words:
Drug
Bar
News
Be;t
Curtain
Drum

I've seen what that drug
Can do to people. Usually it starts in a bar -
No news
There - and then they're tightening their belt
Around their arm, to hide behind the curtain
Of a heroin haze, punctuated only by the drum

Beat of their own pulse. That sound of a drum,
Punching through the effects of the drug,
Tearing back the curtain,
Woke him up in a seedy bar
With no memory of how he got there, or what had become of his belt.
He looked up at the TV. On the news

They were saying there is a new strain on the streets. The news
Is it's more powerful than previous ones, and goes by the name "Drum"
Because of the sound people hear. He downed a belt
Of whiskey, coming out of the drug-
Induced haze, taking in the seediness of the bar,
Including the filthy curtain

Over the window. He went to the window and drew back the curtain.
The news
Crew was right outside. Apparently this was the bar
Where the whole "Drum"
Epidemic had begun. So who gave him this drug?
He looked down, and saw his belt

On the floor. He picked up the belt,
Releasing the curtain.
He still wondered who'd given him the drug,
But was glad he hadn't made the news
As a "Drum"
Casualty. he went back to the bar

And sat down. A man at the other end of the bar
Was eyeing him and his belt.
Was this the "Drum"
Dealer? On the other side of the curtain
The news
Crew was packing up. Today's drug

Story was over. He sipped his drink, hiding behind the curtain
Of liquor. He ordered another belt and looked away from the news.
The drum beat had stopped once his system had eliminated the drug.

Day Seventy-four

Today's words:
Tea pot
Ferry
Parent
Cabbage
Tail
Prophet

The tea pot
Was nearly empty. Time to leave to catch the ferry.
I felt like an anxious parent,
Trying to persuade a child to eat cabbage
At dinner. I guess it's a story of the tail
Wagging the dog, or a false prophet,

Predicting disaster. Like that prophet,
No-one listens to me. I put away the tea pot
And tucked in the tail
Of my shirt as I got ready to leave for the ferry.
Tonight I'm making stuffed cabbage
For my surviving parent,

My mother. My dad died when I was a baby; Mom is the only parent
I've ever known, really. She's always been a prophet, 
Forecasting my life and teaching me to cook cabbage.
We'll sit at the kitchen table around the tea pot
And chat when she arrives, after taking the ferry
To where I live now, at the tail

End of the line. But I'm getting ahead of myself, telling the tail
End of the story first. I'm nervous about cooking for my parent, 
And about her taking the ferry
By herself. I can be a prophet
Too; I'll wager that our tea pot
Chat will revolve around how I'm cooking the cabbage.

Mine probably won't turn out exactly like her cabbage,
And I hope she'll like it. The cat winds its tail
Around my leg, trying to keep me home, near the tea pot.
I have no human children; I'm a cat parent.
I sometimes think my cat is a prophet;
It knows exactly what I'm going to do, but now I'm off to the ferry.

I arrived just in time. I'd hate to have missed it - the ferry
Only runs once an hour. I hope I'll find some good cabbage
At the market. I'm no prophet
About the market. On the deck I look at the sky, where a mare's tail
Cloud seems to be leading the boat, like a parent
Leads a child across a street. Perhaps I'll buy a new tea pot

As well. Afterwards, I took the ferry back to the tail
End of the line, ready to cook the cabbage for my parent,
And prepared for the words of the prophet around the new tea pot.

Day Seventy-three

Today's words:

Leech

Lemon

Mat

Drum

Ego

Store

Time is a leech,

Sucking the blood of youth and replacing it with the lemon

Juice of old age. Time to take that namaste feeling off the mat

And stop listening to the drum

Of your ego.

You can't store

Time; it's use it or lose it, and my store

Of patience is at an end. I'd like to leech

A bit of pride from your ego

And apply it to mine, like a squirt of lemon

Juice on a salad, or a drum

Roll in a crescendo - just adding to what's already on the mat.

Now roll up your mat

And store

It away. Listen to the drum

Beat of your pulse. Don't let anxiety leech

Away your self-confidence on this lemon-

Yellow day. Listen to your ego

For once. Yes, I know I said to ignore your ego

Before, but that was back in practice, on the mat.

Now you need it, like you need a lemon

To brighten certain flavors. Let's go to the store

And see if we can find one. It's like applying a leech

To draw out a poison. The beat of the drum

Will help you to focus, while I softly drum

My fingers on your temples to ease your ego

And leech

Out stress. Now lie back on your mat

For savasana. What's in store

Next is a glass of water with a squirt of lemon.

The lemon

Will help purify your body, while the drum

Will help release the tension you store

In your ego.

This time on the mat

Acts as a leech

For the sour lemon ego

Toxins, while the sound of the drum allows you to relax on your mat

As I store away the leech.

Day Seventy-two

Today's words:

Parade

Pension

Lead

Pyramid

Courage

Umbrella

The VFW parade

Was sad; everyone marching had been on a pension

Since the last century. In the lead

Was a general, followed by a group in a pyramid

Formation. These men had courage

However, and I was proud to watch them, without my umbrella

Even though it was raining. I'd left my umbrella

At home as I ran out to watch the parade

Go by. It takes more than just courage

To get by on a pension

These days. Building a pyramid

Can seem easier, or turning lead

Into gold. Even though the sky was the color of lead

I left my umbrella

Behind and now it was raining. The men formed a human pyramid

As the parade

Drew to a close. Even on a pension

They remained agile and full of courage.

I screwed up my courage

And asked the general in the lead

How he got by on his pension.

"How do you get by without an umbrella

In the rain?" he responded, looking at the other men in the parade.

"You just do. It's like building a pyramid,

"One stone at a time. But just as a pyramid

"Is a tomb, so it takes a lot of courage

"To come out here on parade."

My heart sank like lead.

Here I was, worrying about an umbrella,

When I wasn't trying to survive on a measly pension.

After these men's service no pension

Would ever be adequate compensation. It's like a pyramid

Scheme. These men had been an umbrella,

Shielding us. Because of their courage

We could lead

Our happy, insouciant lives and admire them on parade.

A pension is no recompense for the courage

It takes to support the pyramid of our society, as we lead

Lives under the umbrella of soldiers on parade.