Friday, August 26, 2011


(a postcard poem)

Yesterday, I opted to forgo
free weights class
because the weatherman
said anyone going out
risked getting hit on the head by hail balls
I wasn’t going to take chances my precious gray matter.

Of course, all we got was gray gloom
not so much as a droplet of precipitation.

I send my assistant on a mini-food run.
She gets frozen broccoli with cheese,
popcorn, elbows, and more juice.
I’m ready for this much overhyped storm.

I smile at friend’s friend Facebook comment,
“Irene is facing down
three cities full of the meanest people
this side of the Mason Dixon.
Bitch has been warned.”

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