His Sport

Ask ye I, Shame
What is it you want of sport with me

A story to tell
This cloddish girl

Oh! How she fell for parallel universe truths

A jovial tale
Where thee, with all thy dark proclivities
Shouldst mute and suffocate her good heart?

For Father’s, In Advance

For the fathers who found me right where I was at those given times, and right on-time

You, who, with green eyes, blue eyes, and blue-green eyes

Loved me with a love that helped me grow tall, be tall, and stay tall

Thank you for the canned vegetables, the frozen vegetables for-the-first-time-in-a-lifetime, and for the fresh-from-the-farm-and-roadside vegetables

Though some would seriously judge, I needed your yo’ mama jokes, bar room jokes, and first thing in the morning jokes, to remind me to smile

-you showed This firstborn how to be Serious Business, after all-

Thank you forefathers, for being my fathers, for being there then, and though elsewhere now, for being still here nonetheless

My Carolina Days

Joy was my best friend, ever
A passionate Southern accent
Kind, though
Clear blue eyes and a reliable car
“Clutch,”
It’s a compliment
The only one who came through
Who showed up
I hope her boyfriend made things right
There was nothing he was doing
More important than Joy

Joy told me the best joke
An immature, juvenile joke
The kind you still giggle about at 50
Maybe less a joke than advice
“Shave your butt and walk backwards”
It’s a compliment
That you made someone laugh
Especially at them-self
There’s not enough of us doing that
These days
I want to laugh with Joy again

Old Joke, New Twist

…as the story goes, a Poet, a Lawyer and a Self-proclaimed Indian Chief saunter onto a playground. 

The Poet drawls, “The truth of childrens’ hearts, the taste of Earth, the magical dance of the stars above.  And how all-in is the blood that courses through the veins –This is Love.”

“Your earnestness convinces me.” responds the Lawyer, plopping down onto a swing.  “But still sir, you’ll need to prove it up.” she says unapologetically. 

“How boring!” the Indian Chief interrupts -as Indian Chiefs often do. “This is a playground.”  “Besides,” he nods knowingly to the Poet, “I dig dirt! Plus, when I stayed up past bedtime last night, I watched the stars and fireflies fight!”

“And,” the Indian Chief continued, eyeing up the Lawyer, “Each time I live life hard enough to fall and bleed, you rush right to my side.”  “There’s the proof you need, Mama.” he whispers to her. 

Digging in his heels and pulling an Eagle’s feather from his pocket, the Indian Chief teases, then runs. “Tag!  You’re both it….”