Junk food weakness
Poetic Pomegranate dressing
But no croutons.
They’re too fattening.
Celery will suffice.
I eat this
to send my soul swooning,
to beckon my inner Bugs Bunny.
But not too often,
I’ll have to call doc.
Therefore, I suffer
under a restrictive diet
of ice cream,
I wrote a parody of Maya Angelou’s poem “Still I Rise” as one of my earliest posts. I liked the result but few people saw it because the blog was so new. I’ve been meaning to write a sequel ever since.
That said, it’s time to revisit one of the cruelest topics I’ve ever dealt with: children and animals… so here’s another morbid poem. (Admittedly, the original was better.)
You can take kids to the forest,
They will see a lot of flies.
You can tell them not to feed the bears,
But then some poor kid dies.
Can’t they listen to instructions?
Don’t they want to stay alive?
‘Cause they play like there’s no danger there
That they just cannot survive.
Just like George and like cats
Who are curious young guys,
Though his hope’s springing high,
Still, he dies.
Should we try for something safer?
Is the subway that bad too?
(Children falling in like teardrops
Ain’t what they’re supposed to do.)
We can try hard to restrain them,
We can offer them a prize,
‘Cause the third rail’s got some energy,
And it makes sure some kid dies.
We may choose to take the bus now
We may hope that no one fries
We may warn “That fence should not be climbed”
But always someone dies.
Does that image so upset you
That we’ll have to try the beach?
But there’s sharks there underwater,
When kids drown you’ll hear a screech.
Down to the depths of ocean’s floor,
In through the teeth, they’re gnashing his brain,
He’s a shark’s breakfast, bloody with pride,
Floating and bloating he flows with the tide.
Leaving behind cries of terror and fear,
Into a stomach that’s wondrously clear,
Bringing the flesh that his ancestors gave
He is the dream and the hope the sharks crave.
There’s no such thing as a monumental building. It’s all in how you look at it.
As you can tell from the picture, this building has only three or four stories. Looks bigger here, doesn’t it?
It’s more fun to be small and let the little things tower over you. You don’t need an Eiffel Tower to be awed; monuments are where you find them.
This has been your budget travel tip for the day. Stay thrifty, my friends.
Whenever I visit international markets, I make it a point to not laugh at any sort of unfortunate English errors I see. Usually. And so I chose not to photograph what I’m telling you about today. You’ll just have to trust me.
I went over to the meat section and discovered a most shocking product being sold: grounded turkeys.
The market was apparently offering troublesome teenagers for human consumption. I’m not sure if the packages contained thighs, breasts, legs, or other body parts.
(Before you get all angry and stuff, my high school chemistry teacher lovingly referred to us students as turkeys.)
I drove speedilyrecklesslyfast acrossoverbeyond the tinylittleboulevard when the assholishpoliceofficer pulled me over and demanded my licenseregistrationinsurancepaycheck.
I wasn’t amused.
Fifty times he yelled goddammitdamndamndamnnonononono and each time I replied uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I groanedgrunteddroned in an endless monologue as drool creptrushedflooded down my chin onto my lap.
The officer was pissedoffoffendedgrossedoutamused. “Bye!”
It was late. It was cold. We were cold and we were too tired to be horny. We were on the threshold of returning to our hotel and we waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited.
These are the memories that last a lifetime but we almost never think to photograph them.