Day 119

Today's words:

Chain
Crispy
Graduate
Pocket
Pencil
Navel

"That girl's style was off the chain!
"I mean it was crispy!
"She must have been a graduate
"Of the pocket
"Academy, and she doesn't need a pencil."
Said my teenage nephew. I might as well just stare at my navel;

I have no idea what he meant. My navel
Would tell me more.  Off what chain?
And why no pencil?
And was crispy
A good thing? No idea about the pocket
Academy.  Mind you, I'm a college graduate

And more - did graduate
School too. And my fair share of navel
Gazing. I guess I'm old, like a vest pocket
With a watch on a chain.
"But that's totally crispy!"
He exclaimed, as I took out my pencil

To write down these strange words.  It was a pencil
I'd had since graduate
School days, the mechanical kind.  The only crispy
Thing I knew was bacon, which was good with a navel
Orange. My son kept his wallet on a chain
And in his back pocket.

So no-one was going to pickpocket
Him. He didn't use a pencil
To do the crossword; he used a pen. He didn't shop at chain
Stores and considered himself a graduate
Of the locavore school, which meant he'd never eat a navel
Orange. Was his style crispy

Too?  "Not crispy,"
Pronounced my nephew, "Just another pocket
"Hipster, contemplating his navel.
"He's wrong to eschew the pencil,
"Though. Any hipster graduate
"Can tell you they're more authentic. He should lose the wallet chain.

"So not crispy."  I put the pencil
Bank in my pocket. I give up - I'll never graduate
From the school of navel gazing, on or off the chain.

Day 118

Today's words:
Oath
Wallet
Father
Garlic
Scallop
Giraffe

I made an oath
To never get rid of the wallet
My father
Gave me.  He gave it to me over a garlic-
Scented dinner - a chicken scallop -
At the Quilted Giraffe.

Remember that place?  He loved "the Giraffe,"
As he called it, and he'd sworn an oath
Never to eat a chicken scallop
Anywhere else.  The place was not cheap - his wallet
Attested to that, but he did like how they used garlic.
A true gourmet, my father

Was. The first time my father
Visited the Quilted Giraffe
He'd had the steamed mussels with garlic
Butter. Even though he swore
An oath when he got the bill, he opened his wallet.
The second time he'd had the veal scallop,

But later decided he preferred the chicken scallop.
My father
Gave me the wallet
After dessert at the Giraffe
And I made my oath
To keep it always.  The garlic

Used by the chef was subtle, not that overpowering garlic
You encounter elsewhere.  And the chicken scallop
Shows it off particularly well, hence the oath
My father
Made to the Quilted Giraffe,
His wallet

Be damned!  My wallet,
I think, smells faintly of the garlic
Used at the Quilted Giraffe.
When they closed there was nowhere to get a chicken scallop
Like that.  My father
Wasn't happy when he had to break his oath.

I still have the wallet, but the chicken scallop
In garlic is long gone, as is my father, 
And the Quilted Giraffe.  I kept my oath.

Day 117

Today's words:

Balcony
Tide
Wind
President
Match
General

I stood on the balcony
Watching the tide
Recede and feeling the light wind,
Thinking, "A president
"Is no match
"For a general."

The general
Waved to the people from a balcony.
He'd not met his match
Yet; the tide
Of opinion was in his favor, and the President
Was swinging in the wind.

Don't wind
Me up like that; in general
I support our President.
But there on the balcony
I could see the tide
Shift and knew he'd met his match.

She held the lit match
In the air and let the wind
Blow it out.  Like the tide, 
Feelings rise and ebb, and the general
Was in full force there on the balcony,
Knowing he and the President

Would soon butt heads. The President
Wasn't one to concede a match
Easily; he'd had his own moments on the balcony.
The people still loved him, whichever way the wind
Of opinion blew. The general
Was merely surfing a rising tide.

And when that tide
Receded, the President
Would still be there; the general
Would know then what a true match
Was. I felt the wind
Begin to shift as I stood on the balcony.

The revolution went out with the tide, like a spent match.
The President remained in power as the wind
Of public opinion blew the general off the balcony.

Day 116

Today's words:

Compass
Journalist
Belt
Remedy
Manhole
Sunrise

Frowning at his compass,
The journalist
Tightened his belt.
There was no remedy
At hand for crawling down a manhole
Before sunrise.

Sunrise
Is always in the east. Except when the compass
Says otherwise. But why should it do so? Did it fall down a manhole?
Only a journalist
Could make one think otherwise. As if there's a remedy
For one belt

Too many. But that's not my belt.
I need to be up by sunrise
And I know there's no remedy
For too much drink. My internal compass
Will keep me sane and keep me from speaking to a journalist
Because I know better. I'm not going down that manhole.

And what exactly did you find down that manhole?
An abandoned belt?
I'm just asking questions of the journalist
Because, come sunrise,
We'll all be in need of a compass,
Because true north never changes and that's a remedy.

A remedy
For falling down a manhole
Because that is a great fear, except we rely on our internal compass.
I always wear a belt
To help someone in that position. I'd do it at sunrise
And without a journalist.

I am so glad I'm not a journalist,
Because those people pretend they've got a remedy
For life. But every sunrise
Proves them wrong. It's like thinking a manhole
Can tell you something, or a belt
Can act as a compass.

In the end the journalist crawled down the manhole,
But he found no remedy there, and took his belt
To whip the sunrise into shape and fix the compass.

Day 115

Today's words:

Bed
Cube
Girders
Herb
Spike
Sled

I just want to stay in bed.
Outside it's colder than an ice cube.
I can see frost on the girders
Of the construction site next door. I wish there was an herb
I could take to spike
My temperature so I wouldn't feel so cold out on the sled.

Because I will have to go out on the sled
Today; I will have to leave my bed.
I'll leave my house, under the spike
Of an icicle. I guess it's better than sitting in a cube
All day in some office, but still - just me and Herb,
Up on those frozen girders.

When we first put up the girders
They had to be dragged in on a sled.
No other way over the ice, said Herb,
And he should know. He'd put more winter jobs to bed
Than anyone else. He liked the cold.  His heart was an ice cube
And he walked on the ice with a spike.

First there was just one spike
Sticking up alone, then as more girders
Were added, the building assumed a cube
Shape. More pieces brought in on the sled.
"Get out of bed,"
Said Herb,

"Time to get to work. Or are  you more the herb
"Tea type?" he asked, trying to spike
My temper so I'd jump out of bed
To go work on the girders,
Dragging the sled
Towards the cube.

In time that cube
Would become a building, but only Herb
Could see that now. I just dragged the sled,
Leaning on a spike
To gain purchase on the ice, as I headed towards the girders,
Wishing I were still in bed.

And from the cube there arose a new spike,
The start of the second story. Herb knew his girders.
And I knew a sled is not the same thing as a bed.

Day 114

Today's words:
Laundry
Wine
Typewriter
Invention
Island
Quarry

I was doing the laundry
When I noticed the red wine
Stain on the tablecloth. I'd had the typewriter
Out and that must have hidden it. What an invention
When you think of it. Like leaving the island
In search of a quarry.

The last brownstone quarry
Recently closed, I've heard. But laundry
Goes on. Even on an island
Without washing machines. At least there's wine, 
I hope. That's a bigger invention
Than the typewriter.

Sitting at the typewriter
I pursue my quarry:
Another sestina. This invention
Allows me to put off doing laundry,
And allows me to drink wine
During the day. My own little island.

If I were stranded on a desert island
I don't think I'd need a typewriter
But I would want some wine.
That would be my quarry,
Not doing laundry.
What invention

Has changed lives most? It's probably an invention
That doesn't immediately spring to mind. Here on my island, 
Doing laundry
Or writing on the typewriter,
I seldom think about the quarry,
Until I've had a few glasses of wine.

Wine
May be man's greatest invention,
Although I'm sure it was an accident, rather than an intended quarry.
We're all on our own island
Without it, using the typewriter
Or doing laundry

Alone. Wine gets us off our island.
It's a more useful invention than the typewriter
And a more interesting quarry than laundry.

Day 113

Today's words:
Medal
Chips
Arrow
Punishment
Bribe
Joy

My brother won a medal
For eating the most chips
In a contest. Afterwards, he said it felt like an arrow
Had been stuck into his stomach. That was his punishment.
There's no way to bribe
The body out of suffering and no joy

In trying.  My greatest joy
As a child was a medal
I'd won for dance. But it was a bribe
That got me it. I gave some a packet of chips
To the judge for it. My punishment
Was sharp as an arrow,

And like an arrow
It carried no joy.
That punishment
Was self-inflicted; everyone thought I'd earned that medal.
Only I knew about the chips
And the bribe.

You can bribe
A judge, but the arrow
Of truth will find you every time. Eat all the chips
You want, you'll still find no joy
In an unearned medal,
And that is your punishment.

Punishment
For a bribe
Could involve taking away the medal
Or being shot with an arrow.
But there's no joy
In the process, even if there are chips

Involved. And the chips
Of guilt I still feel are my eternal punishment.
That and the death of joy
I felt after that bribe.
Like an arrow,
That medal pierced my heart.

Chips may be used as a bribe
But punishment will always find you, like an arrow
Seeks its target with joy, and for that there's no medal.

Day 112

Today's words:

Comet

Clay

Prince

Flea

Word

Potato

His head was a comet

All fire and shine, but his feet were clay.

I thought he was a prince

But he wasn't even a frog; more like a flea,

Or even, my word,

A potato

Bug. When we moved into our house, the potato

Bugs came back for years. My Dad drove a black Comet

Station wagon, and the word

"Home" was etched in clay

Over the front door. My dog wore a flea

Collar and his name wasn't Prince.

Later, I'd listen to Prince

And drink potato

Vodka. I'd shop at flea

Markets and hope a comet

Would crash into the earth, turning us all to clay.

There's a word

For that kind of hope, and it's not a happy word.

For my prince

Of clay

I'd make potato

Latkes while we waited for the comet

And watched a flea

Circus. At the flea

Market I found an old word

Game and an old can of Comet

Cleanser.  My mom used that. I was living on Prince

Street at the time, surviving on potato

Gnocchi and working with clay.

I'd sell my clay

Sculptures at the flea

Market on Sping Street. I'd leave a potato

Outside the door for my roommate as an unspoken word

That the prince

And I were spending the nigh burning like a conet.

In the end, we're all just clay. No word

Can change a flea into a prince

And you're far more likely to see a potato than a comet.

Day 111

Today's words:
Traffic lights
Smoke
Hymn
Toast
Courage
Myth

The traffic lights
Were spewing smoke
As a hymn
Or a toast
To courage
Created a new myth.

It's a myth
That traffic lights
Never fail. All it takes is the courage
To raise the smoke
From burnt toast
On high, like a hymn.

And like a hymn
In praise of a myth,
Or a toast
To traffic lights,
Smoke
Rises like courage.

To screw up my courage
I hummed a hymn
Under my breath. My breath came out in smoke.
It looked like a myth.
The traffic lights
Were toast.

French toast
Can give you the courage
To run traffic lights
While singing a hymn.
It's a myth
That smoke

Always rises.  Sometimes smoke
Comes from burnt toast,
But it's a myth
That it gives you the courage
To sing a hymn
To the traffic lights.

Give me a smoke to help my courage
To make a toast or sing a hymn
To the myth of traffic lights.

Day 110 and the first day of Summer

Today's words:
Laxative
Trailer
Wisdom
Grease
Straw
Race

Drink was a verbal laxative
For my second cousin, who lived in a trailer.
Fortunately, my mother had the wisdom
To get us out of there once she started. Outside there were grease
Stains on the ground; someone had thrown straw
On them. Her son was in a drag race

That ended when he crashed his car, losing the race
And his life. My cousin had given him a laxative
That morning; she thought that had somehow caused it. The straw
Strewn around the trailer
Had been there since then; the grease
Was from the crashed car. She still had all her wisdom

Teeth, though not many others. Wisdom
Apparently has nothing to do with teeth or that race
Would never have happened.  Bacon grease
Can be a laxative,
And is often used in the trailer
Park for that purpose. Yes, the straw

Drawn by my cousin was certainly a short one, as was the straw
Of wisdom
She'd pulled. Living in a trailer
Park is no fun, and in the race
Of life she was a loser, always looking for a new laxative
To use instead of grease.

She claimed that drinking grease
Through a straw
Would increase its laxative
Effect. Is this folk wisdom?
My mother would race
To get us out of that trailer

Park every time. Of course, we thought living in a trailer
Was impossibly cool. We'd smear grease
On each other's faces and race
Around, chasing each other with clumps of straw.
My mother had the wisdom
Not to listen to her cousin's advice about giving us a laxative.

There in the trailer, surrounded by straw
And grease, I learned the wisdom
Of not being in a race after taking a laxative.

Day 109

Today's Words:
Texas
caffeine
shirt
turf
ears
carpenter

The problem with Texas
Is the people drink too much caffeine
Or not enough; I'm not sure which. Anyway, keep your shirt
On. We'll figure this out. It's just a stupid turf
War anyway, and someone's ears must be burning.
Perhaps a certain carpenter

I used to know. They say Jesus was a carpenter.
But I'll bet He's never been to Texas
Although they talk about Him enough. That's Whose ears
Are burning. I am jittery from too much caffeine
And worrying about stepping on someone else's turf
Or wearing the wrong shirt.

I want to get me a cowboy shirt
With pearl snaps. Nobody will mistake me for a carpenter
Then. I'll defend my turf
With a gun, like they do in Texas.
Watch out - I'm hopped up on caffeine.
Come near me and I'll shoot off your ears.

My ears
Were cold, so I pulled up my shirt
Collar to cover them. Maybe it was the caffeine.
Some people here say Jesus wasn't a carpenter, 
But a Texas
Rancher defending his turf.

But they're wrong. Turf
Was the last thing He cared about. His ears
are deaf to the cries of Texas
Ranchers, and that cowboy shirt
Looks out of place on a carpenter.
Yes, I've had too much caffeine.

The problem with caffeine
Is it can make you think that your little piece of turf
Means something, or that a simple carpenter
Will lend His ears
To you, in your cowboy shirt,
Acting like you own Texas.

With the caffeine causing my ears
To ring, I lay down on the turf and took off my shirt.
Just another carpenter trying to get the hell out of Texas.

Day 108

Today's words:
Orange
Junk
Lane
Vet
Tower
Alphabet

A big orange pickup truck,
Its bed full of miscellaneous junk,
Was stalled in the exit lane.
I was taking the dog to the vet
And couldn't get off the highway. The water tower
Nearby was covered in graffiti, in an alphabet

Not our own. I didn't recognize the alphabet -
Maybe Thai? It was in orange
Paint and encircled the tower.
Just then I noticed something odd about the junk
In that pickup - it was moving. I dialed the vet
On my cellphone to say we'd be late and I sat in the lane

Behind the truck. Horns started blowing farther back in the lane
As I continued to contemplate that foreign alphabet.
The vet
Said no problem and I returned my attention to the orange
Pickup. Some junk
Fell off and people emerged, headed for the tower.

They jumped down and ran for the tower,
Crossing the traffic lane
To get there.  So the junk
Was just camouflage and the alphabet
Was instructions; the orange
Pickup started back up and I headed for the vet.

When I got to the vet
I told the receptionist the story about the graffiti on the tower,
The orange pickup,
The blocked lane,
The strange alphabet, 
And the junk

That wasn't junk.
The vet
Said she'd heard things like that before. It was the Thai alphabet
And the tower
Was a landmark so they knew where in the lane
To stop and orange

Was the color to look for. From hiding under junk to scaling a tower,
The vet said, the illegal immigrants dropped off in that lane
Knew to look for the color orange and the writing in their alphabet.

Day 107

Today's words:
Software
Hamburger
Paddock
Rain
Sunburn
Fleet

The software
Engineer thoughtfully chewed his hamburger.
Last year, he'd been a jockey, leading his mount around the paddock,
Hoping it wouldn't rain.
He didn't mind a sunburn;
The sun made his horse fleet.

If his horse lost today because it wasn't fleet
Enough, he'd quit and become a software
Engineer. No chance of sunburn
In a windowless office all day. At lunch he'd grab a hamburger
From the company cafeteria. But it was looking more and more like rain
There in the paddock.

How he remembered the smell of that paddock,
Knowing his horse would fail to be fleet
If it started to rain.
Software
Doesn't have a smell, unless of hamburger
And he wouldn't have to risk a sunburn

To succeed at his job. He could feel the sunburn
Starting on the back of his neck as he walked around the paddock.
That poor horse would wind up as hamburger
If it wasn't fleet
Enough today. He could become a software
Engineer but the horse had no options.  He hoped it wouldn't rain,

Or at least that the rain
Would hold off until after the race.The sunburn
Was etching into the tops of his ears now. He wondered about software
Walking around that paddock,
Willing the horse to be fleet,
And craving  hamburger.

The idea of a horse meat hamburger
Is sad, so he really hoped it wouldn't rain.
He hoped the horse would be fleet
And he didn't mind the sunburn.
He didn't really want to leave the paddock
For software.

Buit it did. The horse became hamburger despite the jockey's sunburn,
Because it did begin to rain there in the paddock.
The horse wasn't fleet and the jockey went into software.

Day 106

Today's words:

Bargain

Garden

Parade

Satan

Video

Monkey

At under half a mil, this place is a bargain.

Imagine, your own garden,

And a perfect perch from which to watch the parade

On Thanksgiving. I don't know who in the name of Satan

Shot that stupid video

With that monkey

Running around. But I'm not going to monkey

Around with such things. I've made a bargain 

With another video

Company to re-shoot the garden.

That'll put the fear of Satan

Into them. No-one's going to rain on my parade.

I saw a clown in the parade

Walking a monkey

On a leash. By Satan,

That's a better use for the animal. I'll make a bargain

With you: Keep it out of the garden

And I'll let you sit in on the video

Shoot. There'll be a scene in the video

Of the parade

Seen from the terrace garden.

It's lovely: Let's not monkey

Around, this place is a bargain,

For the love of Satan.

"Get thee behind me, Satan,"

My mother used to say when tempted. But when I saw that video

I knew I had to strike a bargain

To make a better one, with a shot of the parade,

And perhaps the monkey

Walking in it - just not in the garden.

It was in a garden

That Jesus was tempted by Satan

Who appeared in a form similar to a monkey.

Nowadays, without the video

We believe nothing, and the endless parade

Of life strikes us as driving a hard bargain.

Sitting in the garden and watching a video

I was reminded of Satan walking in a parade

With a monkey in order to fulfill a bargain.

Day 105

Today's words:

News

Fish

Promotion

Mulberry

Hanger

India

You know the saying, "Yesterday's news

"Is tomorrow's fish

"And chips paper." I couldn't agree more. The promotion

This week is mulberry

Sauce. It goes well with a hanger

Steak. Or would you rather go to Little India

A/K/A Curry Hill? Seriously, all my friends from India

Call it that, because it's in Murray Hill. But that shouldn't be news

To you. There's one restaurant with a hanger

Outside that's known for its fish

Curry and also a mulberry

Ice cream. I went there after my promotion

To Vice President. As part of that promotion

I was sent on a business trip to India,

Where I ate mulberry

Pie while watching the news.

It seems that a new species of fish

Had been discovered, with a head that resembled a hanger.

My hotel room had only one hanger

In the closet. I suppose if I hadn't gotten that promotion

I wouldn't have had any. People eat a lot of fish

In India,

At least where I was. This wasn't really news

To me, but the frequent use of mulberry

Sauce was. I kept thinking, "Here we go 'round the mulberry

"Bush," as I hung three dresses on the lone hanger.

I scoured the Internet to see if news

Of my promotion

Had made it to India

But all I found were stories about that new fish

Species. No one was quite sure what type of fish

It was exactly. After one final dessert of mulberry

Sorbet, I left India

And the one hanger

I'd been granted due to my promotion

(Ha!) and headed home, where there was still more news

Abouth the fish with the hanger-

Shaped head. And, again, mulberry sauce on promotion.

It felt like I'd never left India, but that's not news.

Day 104

Today's words:

Pocket

Inn

Father

Scaffold

Bird

Tonic

Jason took the card from his pocket

And walked into the inn.

He was going to meet his father

But he felt more like walking to the scaffold.

He felt fragile as a baby bird.

He wished he'd taken sone of that tonic

His mother had offered. And there drinking a gin and tonic,

One hand in his pocket. 

With eyes like a bird,

Sitting at the bar in the inn,

Underneath a scaffold,

Was the man he supposed was his father.

He'd never met his father,

But he knew he drank gin and tonic.

That's what they'd been drinking that night on the scaffold.

He'd taken some money from his pocket

And taken the girl to an inn.

The next morning the song of a bird awakened her,

But she was alone, apart from that bird.
The man, now his father,
Was gone, and no-one at the inn
Knew where he'd gone. Head pounding from gin and tonic,
She put his handkerchief in her pocket
And walked out under the scaffold.

That's where it had started - they'd climbed on the scaffold,
From which a bird
Now watched her leave, one hand in her pocket.
He hadn't known he was the boy's father
Until much later. Now there he was, drinking a gin and tonic
At the same inn.

Twenty years later, the inn
Was again surrounded by a scaffold.
But the effect would be tonic;
He wasn't a bird,
He was a man, and he was going to confront his father,
Pulling that old handkerchief out of his pocket.

From the roof of the inn, a bird
Watched as Jason passed under the scaffold to meet his father,
Ordering a gin and tonic and pulling something from his pocket.

Day 103

Today's words:
Joint
Fungus
Shoes
Comb
Breakfast
Cliff

The patient presented with joint
Pain and a toenail fungus.
Was it due to the shoes
She wore? I raked a comb
Over my head as I cooked breakfast,
Preparing to go over that cliff.

Jumping off a cliff
Is easy, more so than rolling a joint.
And I love a mushroom omelette for breakfast
Even though it's a fungus.
But I still comb
My mind to figure out if the shoes

Are causing the problem. Why do women wear shoes
That cause health problems? It's like standing on the edge of a cliff
Or making music with a comb.
They can cause joint
Damage and foot fungus.
It's also important to eat a good breakfast.

After breakfast
I choose what shoes
To wear that day. I know most of mine have a fungus.
I've already jumped off that cliff.
Then I smoke a joint
And comb

My hair. Sometimes I comb
My hair before breakfast.
It depends on when I've rolled the joint.
Then I put on my shoes
And prepare to jump off the cliff
Of the day. I research fungus

For a living. Fungus
Is an amazing organism. It lives everywhere: in a comb,
On a cliff;
You can eat it for breakfast.
But it's also in your shoes
And can cause joint

Pain. So I eat the fungus for breakfast
While I comb my hair and choose my shoes
At the edge of the cliff while smoking a joint.

Day 102

Today's words:

Cult

Mustard

Number

Tunnel

Torrent

Binder

I'm a member of that cult

Of people who put mustard

On their French fries. There are a number

Of us. If you've never met one you must live in a tunnel.

Not at lot, mind you, not a torrent,

But just enough. I keep a binder

Full of recipes. I'll often refer to this binder

When cooking, but I improvise too. I'm not in a cult

That way. I once saw a guy squirt a torrent

Of mustard

All over his food. He had to nearly dig a tunnel

Through the stuff to get to it. That's so wrong, in any number

Of ways. For a number

Of reasons, I prefer the recipes in my binder

To others, but I won't tunnel

Through all of them to adhere to the cult

Of mustard.

Outside the rainfall is a torrent.

And because of this torrent

I'm staying inside. I've got a number

Of things to do here, and enough mustard

To hold me. Flipping through my binder,

I look for something to make. I read that some cult

Members in Texas tried to escape by digging a secret tunnel.

They dug the tunnel

At night, even when there was a torrent

Of rain, because they really wanted to escape the cult.

There was a good number

Of them, but the leaders had their pictures in a binder

And sprayed them with mustard

Gas as they worked. The mustard

Gas flooded the tunnel,

Targeting everyone in the binder

With a torrent

Of stinging gas. And I can cite a number

Of similar incidents of people trying to leave a cult.

The mustard gas spewed in a torrent

Through the tunnel, claiming a number

Of victims, all in a binder kept by the leaders of the cult.

Day 101

Today's words:
Toilet Paper
Christmas
Teacher
Figure
Theater
Class

At Halloween we'd string toilet paper
From all the trees. At Christmas
We'd bake cookies to give to the teacher.
We didn't figure
Life would ever change, except for the roles we played in theater
Class.

"You've got no class,"
The popular girl simpered, "It's not 'toilet paper,'
"It's 'bathroom tissue.' You'll never get anywhere in the theater
"If you talk like that." But I was waiting for Christmas
Break so I could figure
Out a way to pull one over on the teacher.

I wanted to prank the teacher
And make her look silly in front of the whole class.
I just needed to figure
Out what to do. Maybe I could wrap her desk in toilet paper
While the school was closed over Christmas
Break.  When she came back it would be like being in the theater

As we watched her reaction.  My sister's theater
Teacher
Actually gave them homework over Christmas
Break, and then they had to give a report before the whole class.
"This sandwich tastes like toilet paper,"
He spat. I know it's only a figure

Of speech, but it wasn't good. I figure
I'll hide out in the theater
And ditch math class while I smuggle toilet paper
Into the room to prank the teacher
By covering her desk with it to embarrass her in front of the class
After Christmas

Break.  The Christmas
Nativity scene at the church was missing the figure
Of one of the Wise Men. But he turned up in class
Where the theater
Teacher
Used him to hold a roll of toilet paper.

For its Christmas play, the theater
Club brought the figure of the Wise Man on stage after the teacher
Had told the class to drape him with toilet paper.