5000 Towels

The sign at the Health Plex announced in bold print 

“5000 towels are missing each year” 

5000 towels?  That’s 14 per day! 

How could five thousand towels disappear? 

I once had an uncle who stole hotel towels

Outraged at the room rates — he thought them too high

So he’d bring towels home as a gift to my mom 

Then she’d slip them to us on the sly  

The Health Plex, of course, has an older crowd

Some portion are mildly demented 

They stick those towels in their gym bags 

And wander off home quite contented

On the dark side, we have those with towel fetishes

Sniffing body odors can be a kick  

To feed such a habit, you need fresh dirty towels 

Two dozen a week does the trick 

I’m keeping my eye on a worker named Edith 

She’s in charge of the laundry machines

Looks like the sort who’d sell towels at the flea 

Five thousand would keep her in jeans     

The Health Plex may implement drastic methods 

Perhaps a deposit, four dollars or five 

The world’s bad enough, all this stuff in the news 

No towels, we’ll never survive

Jack and Jill: An Afterword

Jack and Jill went up the hill

To fetch a pail of water

Jack fell down

And broke his crown

And Jill came tumbling after

(Anon., 17th century)

Oh Jill, sweet Jill, how could you?

How could you push me down that hill?

I banged my head, I bruised my toe 

A bumpy, frightening spill    

Oh Jack, dear friend, I feel for you

But you were pawing at me 

I pushed you away to protect myself

Then you tripped on a rock, you see

But we climbed that hill to kiss and hug 

There’s no water on top of a hill

Why would you go there if not to kiss?  

Girls’ moods befuddle me still  

No water on top of the hill?

So why did we bring your pail?

I held your arm to rescue you

Then I too tumbled down the trail 

You held my arm to rescue me?

here i feared you were doing me in 

Oh Jill, this fills me with such relief 

The thought of it makes my head spin 

Oh Jack, you are such a silly boy 

But you mustn’t grab girls by force

If you ever in life hope to get a kiss

Please stop being boorish and coarse 

O.K., Jill, I’ll see you soon

O.K.,  Jack, see you later  

Valuables

My wife  —  ultra distressed

Scouring the bedroom

Boxes flung about 

“I can’t find them!” 

She is missing two

pieces of jewelry

One a necklace

from her best friend Eleanor

The cleaning lady, I point out,

has had different helpers lately

“I’m not saying but…”

Then I offer my suggestion that

a lock box might be

a good idea

(Very long pause)

.

.

.

.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

I ask

“Not particularly,” my wife 

replies

“I could put my 

valuables in it too,” I add

getting more excited by my idea

“You don’t have any valuables,”

my wife says in a 

matter-of-fact tone 

“I do so … of course I do”

(Several minutes of silent thought)

There are my cuff links from Target

Or my large toenail clipper

Also my Roger Federer socks  

Then it comes to me:

“My Swiss Army knife!”

Vine Street Bees, Cool Chefs

                Headline:  “Downtown Cincinnati street buzzed 

by bees, Orchids chefs capture swarm” 

[Cincinnati Enquirer, Oct. 10, 2018]

A ho-hum Monday in downtown Cincinnati

Then, like a scene out of Hitchcock  

Twelve thousand bees descend from the sky

Setting up shop at Fourth and Vine

Outside the door of the Orchids restaurant

Bees in all directions

Buzzing, flitting, flapping

Lounging on cars, signs, parking meters

Covering the sidewalks to fifty feet in the air

Pedestrians panic, office workers flee

A hot dog vendor dials 911

A mother hurries her toddlers away

Police are befuddled

Some new form of terrorism?

Word reaches staff in the Orchids kitchen

Executive sous chef Mallory Myers

                Executive chef George Zappas

                                spring into action

Donning their handy beekeeper suits

they rush to the midst of the throbbing swarm

desperately searching for the queen

Twelve thousand worker bees but only one queen

Larger than the rest

and likely near the center of the flock

In mere minutes 

Myers finds the queen

and Zappas entices her into the box

The workers, naturally, follow their queen

And as quickly as it started

the invasion of the bees has come to its end

Not one single drone on Vine Street

Too late in the autumn to start a new hive

Orchids is providing a comfortable home 

These bees, so happy in their new domicile

will produce gallons of honey 

for Orchids and their appreciative patrons

My Very First Post Mo dern Po emmmm

In the beginning

Darkness….Silence

The cavern entrance sealed

A cesspool of rancid        liquid

laps against tender walls

Nausea ….. Vomitus

Leeches and deadly eels

wriggle toward 

the surface

Putrid odors of the primeval lake

       threaten to befoul 

the earth and the heavens

[Author note #1: My first stanza, as is clear from its many metaphors (beginning, darkness, cavern, liquid, walls, odors, nausea, etc.), is a description of what my mouth tastes like when I first wake up in the morning.]

The sun creaks over the hilltops

Lyrical songs of the meadow lark
Gentle winds sweep the cobwebs

off white stone fences

and waft delicate fragrances

of lilacs and wisteria 

across the Elysian fields 

[Author note #2:  Continuing my early morning experience at the bathroom sink, the second stanza describes what my mouth tastes like after I brush my teeth with Colgate toothpaste.]  

Suddenly

the thunderclouds part              Lightning flashes!!!

Yellow eyes blazing

Vengeance afoot

Protecting the vulnerable sibling 
The Black Beast spreads her massive wings 

ripping at my rib cage with her talons

feasting on pungent black blood

Near death, heart ripped asunder

I seek and draw sustenance from the pale brown tortoni

A flicker of hope

Then a choir of angels 

Salvation

Redemption 

[Author note #3: Later in the day, my concluding stanza describes how much my mouth enjoys  butterscotch ice cream after my Mother punishes me for torturing my younger Brother.]

La Fin          Lopussa          Koniec

Campfire

First the insides, crumpled newspaper pages

Then a pyramid of fresh pine branches

Springy and scraggly, sappy to the touch 

Giving off a tart evergreen aroma 

Around the perimeter 

A wall of birch logs 

Elegant in their pristine white jackets

One scratch of a Diamond match

The pine boughs, ablaze in a second

Hissing, snapping, crackling, spitting

Spreading their hungry flames

The birch bark eagerly joins the inferno 

Tiny sparks flying into the sky

Dancing erratically, this way and that

Some reaching ten feet high

Sputtering out in the night air 

Plumes of yellow, red, orange flames

Agitated, restless, angry 

Jumping, dodging, darting, leaping

Changing form, one instant to the next

Each glimpse, its own fleeting masterpiece

A sudden wind, the smoke shifts

Eyes stinging, I move my chair to one side 

And toss in a handful of pine cones

Like fireworks, the petals burst into flame

Electrifying in their dazzling display 

Eventually the fire draws in its tentacles

Charred logs blink and glow

Sinking into their pool of reddish-gray coals 

Mesmerized, my breathing slows

Muscles relax 

Cares of the day recede

Replaced by a stream of memories  

Camping with my brothers at Little River

Ghost stories at YMCA camp 

In the Maine woods with my wife and son

So many campfires, so many decades

Magical moments spanning our lives 

Frasier Addicts: A Monotetra

We visit Frasier every night

On goes Netflix, off the light        

All these characters, strange, uptight           

Oh such delight, oh such delight

Frasier, it’s clear, is ultra smart

His brother Niles quotes Jung and Sartre

While Daphne has the softest heart

Each plays their part, each plays their part

Frasier, of course, can be quite prissy

And Niles will often act like a sissy

Martin, their dad, instead gets hissy 

 Prissy sissy, sissy hissy

  

The radio gang, they all are witty

Producer Roz, she’s oh so pretty

Sports stud Bulldog can be gritty

Seattle’s their city, Seattle’s their city 

A heartwarming time with Frasier we’ve had 

I have to admit that we’re hooked so bad

We’re nearing the end, so sad, so sad 

Must find a new fad, must find a new fad