30/30 The Not So Grand Finale

The children gaze skyward

Wide-eyed and covering their ears

Their wonder is genuine

Their appreciation coming in squeals and shudders

They are naive

Thinking each burst is the best one yet

The adults watch them

Dancing on spent sparklers

Flinching with each delayed boom

Delighting in the crackles and bright fireflies

Duller than we remember

But to them, there could be nothing more brilliant

We are creating their memories

Watching their childhood take shape

Their mirth is the true entertainment here

Together awaiting each barrage

Perk up at false starts

Glance hopefully at watches

With every pregnant pause

We hold hands

Savoring the faces of our children

They don't yet know the word finale

Glance sideways in the glow, perplexed

Ask why the neighbors depart early

No concept of traffic and timing

Never wondering how much this production all cost

They don't care about such trivia

While the sky is erupting above

This show is for them

Each burst jolts their sternum

They fear the low aerials

Watch lingering comets of perchlorate fall

Wonder if they could catch one

Whether it would burn

We assure them they are safe

Just in case, they cover their heads with their hands

It is past their bedtime

The grand finale explodes

Small jaws drop

Speechless for the first time all night

Adult shoulders shrug

Smiling and relieved

Dreading the inevitable gridlock of exodus

We exchange knowing glances

We are here for our children

As the finale dims

The last echo fades

The children squeal and applaud

We feign amazement for their benefit

Head for the parking lot

Buckle them tight

We will do this again next year

We promise

It is our tradition

It has always been this way

We will always have a fine time at the fireworks

None the less

They will never be as good as our memory

29/30 Charlotte

Nimble and sleepless

She spins her silk symphony

Slow and subtle, persistent

Dexterity no ten fingers could equal

Following patterns etched in instinct

The beauty of the hunt and the brood

She is watching, impatient

Never losing a stitch

Unfazed by the breeze

Or the dewdrops

28/30 Voice of angels

They would fall to their knees and tremble

Fearing the power

The beauty

The wrath

They are kind to strangers

Just in case

There are angels who come in disguise

There is a range of emotion

The extremes of which can never be tapped

Without trauma or pure ecstasy

These are the yearnings

I do not know

27/30 The return flight

Overseas vacation is meant to be glorious

Refreshing and cathartic

Adventure and fireworks

Nothing but cherished memories

Surely

There are mishaps and regrets

Jet lag and food poisoning

Time wasted and missed opportunities

But in sum the journey

Has been life changing

How unfortunate

That it always ends with a plane flight

Hours confined to a cramped chair

Seat backs and tray tables

Punctuated by tiny drinks from a cart

A closet bathroom the only escape

Hours of restlessness

Remembering the joys of holiday

Bemoaning the coming resumption of work

When it is almost over

They will hand you the punch line of vacation

Yes, you will be asked to do paperwork

Even the landing is not the end

You will shuffle from plane to hallway

Stand in a line

Exhausted and impatient

Yearning for the comfort of bed

You will wait, bleary-eyed

Til they call you forth

Eye your paperwork in silence

And ask you

If you have anything to declare

26/30 The Sketch

Live music is a treasure

Whether skillful or unfortunate

No digital file can substitute for experience

The odor and humidity

The jostling and sound checks

And that one creepy old guy in the back

Without fail, he would be there

Flaunting a hairstyle

Twenty years older than the band

Dangling, unwashed braids

Feathered 70's mane

Greasy mullet

And the tee shirt of some band

That broke up in a previous decade

Leaning on a door frame

Head metronome to the bass line

Tall, short, lean, or fat

Mustachioed or soul patched

Eyes lingering on young women

They could be his daughter

Even in a crowded room

There is often space around him

He gives off the vibe

They are wise to stay clear

Enjoy the reverb and feedback

The thrill of sweat and kick drum

Savor the memory

In time

It all runs together

Years of smells and faces

Decades of sustained chords and encores

But lately

It's different somehow

The bands are younger

Each one is less memorable

The crowd looks less like I remember

And I haven't spotted the creepy old guy in a while

I have migrated lately

From the stage to the back

I used to dance

Sway and gyrate with the rest

But the speakers are too loud

The jostling annoys me

I prefer to sit back and observe

Lean against a door post

Occasionally some kid tells me

He likes my Rollins Band shirt

I thank him

Smiling at the girl on his arm

They move on

I keep bobbing my head

Enjoy the bass line

Remind myself I'm due for a haircut

25/30 Babble

The evolution of her speech

From squeal to syllable

da da da da da

First monotone

Now with cadence

First random

Now on command

One consonant to two

Soon, fine motor dexterity

Spawns more diverse sounds

In this stage of development

Than she will use as an adult.

Her mind is linguistically open

Any day now this will end

My child will begin to cull her speech

Forgo clucks and umlauts of other tongues

Keep only those she hears

The tones and accents that daily assault her ears

I will teach her this

My words and inflection teaching right from wrong

Our way from the other

She will grow and travel

They will hear my voice in hers

They will know where she comes from

And when they do

I only hope my child is proud.

24/30 Bless your heart

When heartache blooms poison

Injected starburst of black

Both numb and relentless

We search in vain

For just the right spot to clutch

Bitter symphoinies of hard facts

Cannonball stomachs

Cram lumps down our gullet

Burn retinas irrefutable

We sprout genuine

This is the great unveiling

Rendered bittersweet and naked

Glaring heavenward

Our paint runs soluble

Grief has no umbrella

The reflex of crisis

Learned shotgun slow

They will be watching for signals

Armor rust skepticicm

Convince them all is well

23/30 Taming the scruff

They began as one more embarrassment of puberty

Sparse and haphazard

In patches of chin and upper lip

The occasional sideburn

It took too long for me to notice

Longer to take action

To work up the nerve

Rummage through drawers

Fill my hand with foam

Awkwardly touch Dad's razor to my cheek

Figure out the mechanics

Know what to do

When I first drew blood

A mess of toilet paper and band-aids

Dull blade across acne

A decapitation to rival Louis XVI

Only, less intentional

That daily experiment:

With the grain, or against

Foam, gel, or a dry shave

The Christmas Norelco

Never close as a blade

But always less carnage

One quick pass

Or several

The patches broadened

Eventually connected

Traced a path along chinstrap

Arched up under nose

Never really filled in the cheeks

It still grows out awkwardly

More neck than face

No five o'clock shadow graces my cheekbones

Late in the day

There is no moment of handsome

It is the disappointment of maturity

One more inconvenience of manhood

I've stopped letting them grow

Save for occasional lazy weekends

Now they're sprouting the wrong shade of old

22/30 ACME to Wile E Coyote, the sestina version

Dear Mr. Coyote, please accept our sincere

condolences. We were sorry to hear that product

#257663 Deluxe Rocket Skates, which you purchased from ACME,

was in use during an incident causing you bodily harm,

resulting in several broken bones and your fur being consumed

by flames. Your feedback on our product we greatly appreciate.

Although we appreciate

your pain, it is with sincere

regret we inform you that when your receipt was consumed

in the resulting fireball your product

warranty was rendered void. Any harm

that came to you can not be attributed to ACME.

Mr. Coyote, here at ACME

customer service is job #1. We appreciate

your business and wish for no further harm

to befall you. If you are sincere

in your threat to sue for product

liability, there may be a series of countersuits in which you will be consumed.

But if you are not, please know we are consumed

with desire to keep you as a loyal ACME

customer and advise you again to consult each product

manual's warning list prior to use in order to appreciate

the range of potential danger. Please make a sincere

effort to do so to avoid future bodily harm.

And while there is no real harm

in attempting the unique styles of bird hunting that have consumed

your life all these years, we wonder how sincere

your expectation of success could have been when you used ACME

model #257333 Deluxe Rocket Skates as projectiles, or if you appreciate

your own culpability in the mishap that occurred while using our product.

Since your injuries were a product

of your own misuse of flammable rocket fuel, there is no harm

in offering a conciliatory gift, which we hope you will appreciate.

A 20% discount on size XL steel bear traps,model # 974286, which consumed

the majority of last year's orders you placed with ACME.

Again, please read all manuals. Our concern is sincere.

We appreciate the brand loyalty with which you are consumed.

We are sincere in wishing you no further harm.

Mr. Rod R. Unner, Senior VP for Product Liability Evasion, ACME

21/30 Almost me (a triolet)

Enthralled by fear and fresh regret

I tell the cop two bold-faced lies

These trembling eyes taste beads of sweat

Enthralled by fear and fresh regret

So sure the cruise control was set

Speed limit dropped, to my surprise

Enthralled by fear and fresh regret

I tell the cop two bold-faced lies

20/30 chronic pain management

Patient medical history questionnaire
Designed by clinicians to streamline visits
More patients, more money, less time
Less personal, less quality, more errors
Life history of health reduced to multiple choice
Pick A or B
Sometimes, always, never
"It depends" is not an option
There is no check box for this illness
This brand of pain
"Does it interfere with my work,
My sleep, my happiness?"
The answer is yes, that's why I'm seeing a doctor.
The answer is no, because I grit my teeth and deal.
The answer is not a check mark in a box.
The plastic wristband they give me has two barcodes
One patient number
One date of birth
One name
The records are no longer hand-written
Not kept in files
They are digital
To their machine, even a name is a number
A string of ones and zeros
1 or 0
Yes or No
Check this box, or don't.

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19/30 Phototropism

We are biologically programmed

To yearn for daylight

But growth is a function of shade

Not sun

On the dark side, growth is driven

Auxins

Rich hormones causing cell elongation

Out-pacing the sunny side

Stem bending gradually sunward

Leaves broadside to the light

The same light that stunts growth on one side

Brings health to the whole organism

It's always the way

Doctor says to be healthy
Lose weight

We eat fewer calories

Starve our metabolism

Store less energy as fat

Counterintuitive, yet practical

We prune trees back to make them grow

Accelerate into a skid

Give stimulants to calm nerves

And take the New Jersey Turnpike in the hope of getting there faster

Who knows why,

But somehow, it works

A life full of solutions we would never expect

Til we breathe our last

Close our eyes to the sun

And let our souls walk

Toward the light.

18/30 Waiting at Peter's

It all just happened so quickly

You know,

One day we're following our Lord across the country,

Following him into the city

A parade in his honor

Enjoying the hero's welcome they gave him along the route

Then there was the awkward seder

That thing with Judas

The whole drink my blood thing

Nobody really knew what to make of that

But we know better than to question

We've come to learn that everything He says

Always makes sense eventually

Sometimes you just have to sleep on it.

Which is what we did after it was all over

The night before, nobody got a wink

But now, He's dead.

We were expecting a miracle

He always pulls off a miracle in times like this

Gets everyone to listen to Him

Always with the a-ha moments

So when he actually died yesterday

We were still waiting for the rim-shot

For oohs and aahs of amazement

But instead

It was pretty much silent

Since they put him in the tomb

We've all been over at Peter's

Drinking his cheap wine

And avoiding eye contact all Sabbath.

Nobody really knows what we're supposed to do

There's not even a football game tomorrow

Maybe a Nascar race

Peter's got a decent flatscreen, at least.

The girls are headed over to the tomb tomorrow morning.

Hoping to prepare the body properly

Put that box of myrrh the wise men gave Him

To good use.

His mother kept it all that time

It's like she knew.

Nobody's talking about it today

We clink glasses in silence

Trying to figure out what to say

The last three years has been so eventful

We should really write a book about it

A couple of these guys are decent writers

Matthew, Mark, John

And Luke's not bad

Still, I just can't believe He let them crucify Him

Didn't end things with more of a bang

Than that crazy storm

The things we've seen Him do

Healing the sick, the blind

Raising the dead

I was so sure there would be a grand finale

I hadn't prepared for this moment

None of us had, it's clear

Our spirits died with Him

We can figure it out tomorrow morning

Once the girls get back from the tomb

Maybe somebody will be alive enough tomorrow

To tell us what to do next

17/30 Regret

To be fair,

As babies go,

You weren't the ugliest.

You were just an afterthought

Slightly large ears

Tiny swirl of hair on an otherwise bald head

Bright blue eyes that never blink

Cheeks that glow red

Not exactly Bride of Chucky

But not beautiful

You came home to our house with your little pink hat

Tiny baby bottle

Tiny syringe we never expected

We did not read the fine print

When our daughter first took your hand

You coughed, your sickly cough

The only sounds we ever heard you make

That dry, repeating cough

And the sound of your head

Clunking on each step

She loved you from the first moment

This surprised us

Two years as only child

And never once had she shown interest

In babies

Even as Mama's belly grew

And talk of a baby sister peppered daily conversation

But from that first moment

She wanted to hold you

Laughed when you coughed

Dragged you up and down the stairs by your foot.

Clunk, clunk, clunk

The first time it frightened us

Fearing it was her head on the stairs

We felt relief that it was only you

The $3.74 baby doll

From the 80% off clearance

Discounted toys that had not sold well

Pariahs of the retail world

Tired action figures from last year's summer blockbuster

Educational arcade games that no child would enjoy

The black-skinned Barbie dolls

Collecting dust on New Hampshire shelves

And you,

The smiling, sickly baby.

Molded plastic head and limbs

Stuffed cloth torso hiding an internal battery pack

Had I looked once at the box,

Beyond the red price tag

Noticed the plastic syringe

The plastic injection port sewn into your backside

I would have thought twice.

She had other babies

Soft and cute

Never took an interest

Beyond arranging them on shelves among countless stuffed animals

But you she loved

Like she loved her baby sister

You made her feel special

She could change your diaper, just like Mommy

Watched and imitated maternal care

Changed and swaddled you ten times an hour

Even lifted her shirt to feed you

We'd thrown away the syringe

You sleep in her bed now

With you there. she is not anxious

We know your voice

cough, cough

It reassures us that our child is well

16/30 To the seeds I started a month late

You were never forgotten

In fact

I thought of you more in the waiting time

Than if you'd been started on time

I have spent emotion on your welfare

Regret

I should have just done it

Concern

Will you blossom in time

Worry

Is there time now to bear your fruit

Before the frost consumes you

You are crowded

I know

I knew better even then

But you were last year's seeds

There were too few earthen pots

And I had a three year old helping me

Just be glad you are sprouting

And hope my thumb is green enough

This year

To tell the spinach from the basil

And the peppers

15/30 Reflections of Umar

I said I would do it for Allah

I would do it for Jihad

Would do it for revenge

To teach the infidels a lesson

To receive the glory of martyrdom

In truth

I just did it for the virgins.

I tried, in my youth, to be pure

To avoid the temptations of the eyes

The sins of the flesh

And, for the most part

I succeeded in this, and yet

Success comes at a cost

Frustration

Loneliness

They promised me virgins

They promised wives and pleasure

Eternal happiness

Great honor

For me and for my family

I was certain the next sight I would see

Was paradise

I have failed

The boy in the seat next to me

Seemed kind, about my age

I greeted him kindly

Thanked him when he got up

To let me use the restroom

To prepare the mixture that would kill him

The dense powder sewn into my underpants

By a long-bearded man half a world away

This boy was kind, for an infidel

Even in the aftermath

While others cursed and manhandled me

His eyes were sad and forgiving

My ears popped

As the flight began its descent

I hid beneath a blanket

Secrecy, but also shame

Whispered "Insha Allah"

Reached my hand into my pants

Pushed the plunger on the syringe of acid

Tomorrow, I would be a headline

Two hundred eighty-nine victims

Seventy-two virgins

One martyr

It burned

Then popped and burned more

I was ready for paradise

Bid farewell to my mortal flesh

But the pain brought me back into it

The stench of smoke

The cries of passengers

A man shouting in Dutch wrestled me to the floor

It burned with a pain I have never felt

It seared my most tender skin

For what seemed like hours

There are things worse than death

There was pain in humiliation

And humiliation in the pain

Imprisoned now, and horribly scarred

A painful, daily reminder

I will see no women in this place

Virgins, or otherwise

If nothing else, that is a blessing

But no consolation

I am a failure

A dishonor to those who sent me

I will die here forgotten

I keep my eyes closed when I bathe

Use the toilet

Change my clothing

I can not bear the sight

The reminder of my past

And future

The reality I once denied

That I did not do this for Allah

No

I did this for the virgins

I did this to myself

14/30 Confession of a Beowulf

I, Beowulf,

Do solemnly swear

To tell the truth, the whole truth

For once in my life

Here it is:

I paid Grendel to take a dive.

There, I said it.

Yes, I did kill him,

But you can't really call that a win.

The whole sneaking into our camp,

And the whole grabbing his arm thing...

That was planned.

And I feel really badly that he killed and ate one of my men in the process

I should have seen that coming

And it did make the whole thing look plausible in the end, didn't it?

The plan was to get him in an arm hold

Shackle him with chains we had conveniently laying around

Leave him stranded in the wilderness

Of course, we told his mother where he'd be

She would have rescued him soon as she finished counting all that gold

They were set to retire on the Riviera with that cash

Quit the pillaging business altogether

Let me be a hero for a while

It had taken a little convincing

But they'd had a good run

And the price was right

Just make it convincing, I told him, or all bets are off.

He played the part perfectly.

I just didn't know his arm was going to tear off like that.

Maybe it was the adrenaline

But I didn't think I was pulling that hard

I thought for a moment the joke was on me,

But it definitely wasn't a fake arm.

I tried to apologize, but he ran off into the marsh too quickly.

Killing his mother was just to save face.

I mean, I'd just killed her son by accident

And felt bad about that

But I couldn't let word get back to the king, now could I?

And she still had my money

Which I would need, if I was to be king of my own people.

Thought I had the whole mess swept under the rug,

But then the dragon showed up

Like I needed one more thing to deal with.

Why a slave would go and steal the cup from a dragon is beyond me.

If you need a cup that badly

There have got to be easier places to get yourself a drinking vessel.

My men agreed.

They were all so sure I could take the dragon

Let me march right in there on my own

Only thing is,

Dragons don't take bribes so easily.

That thing singed my marshmallows something fierce.

Don't believe the lore.

When we went back in,

It was Wiglaf who killed the thing.

I was hiding in the back of the cave when that stalagmite knocked loose

Who'd have thought

Death by stalagmite impalement

Wiglaf's a good guy, though.

Whispered in my ear at the lights went out

He'd let me take the credit for it.

"Stalagmite wound," he said,

"Looks like a dragon bite to me."

Atta boy, Wiglaf.

I taught you well.

"No, Sir, you didn't."
"The story just reads better this way."

"They'll still be reading it hundreds of years from now," he told me.

"Every high school kid will need a copy."

"And I'll be there, collecting the royalty checks."

13/20 Two Lumps

The man across the small table avoids eye contact

as I avoid his in return.

He is my friend.

We share history,

know each other's fears,

struggles,

secrets.

This will be one of them,

shifting awkwardly in pink chairs too small for us

while blond-haired girls smile and make a fuss.

Their daddies are having a tea party.

We dutifully accept refills with pinkies raised.

My child asks,

"One lump or two?"

then bonks me on the head with a plastic tea tray when I answer.

Twice.

The other daddy laughs,

as do our children,

though neither has ever seen

Saturday morning cartoons.

This is learned behavior.

This is ritual.

This is tradition.

There have been many tea parties.

This will not be the last.

Our cups are refilled,

again.

Imaginary cream, sugar, and British accents.

We will not admit our smiles are genuine.

This secret

will go with us to our graves.

12/30 ACME to Wile E Coyote

Dear Mr. Coyote,

Thank you for your recent correspondence regarding the unfortunate mishap that occured in using our ACME rocket skates model #257663. We were sorry to hear that your first attempt to use the product resulted in the incineration of your fur and subsequent propulsion off the edge of a high, rocky outcrop. From your account of events, however, it would not appear that the product malfunctioned in any way.
On page 73b, subsection 9 in the PDF version of your user manual, which is available for download at our extensive website, you will note in the footnote section of the fine print that this novelty product is intended to be used by experienced professionals only on a closed course that is free of all physical hazards and flamable materials. In addition, your employment of the devices for hunting purposes does not fit within the stipulations of "entertainment purposes only." It is clear that your use of this product violated product use recommendations, thereby rendering the warranty and product satisfaction guarantee null and void. We regret that we can not refund your purchase price of 139 samoleons in this instance. We sincerely hope the upcoming skin grafts are successful. You have been a valued customer of our products since 1952, and we would hate to lose you as a customer. For your troubles and as a thank-you for your repeat business, we would like to extend a 20% price discount on your next purchase of a galvanized iron bear trap, size XL. Product #194726. Please remember to read the full version of the product manual before making use of any future ACME products. They are available for free download at ACME.com.
We look forward to continuing to fulfil your novelty product needs for years to come.
Sincerely,
Rod R. Unner
VP product liability evasion, ACME Inc.

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11/30 Uniformitarianism

I am not a religion.

I am a principle.

I enable the study of pre-history.

Because of me,

Logic springs from speculation.

Because of me,

The future is no longer mysterious.

Because of me,

The world will go on turning

Like it always has.

And no,

I will not officiate your wedding.

And no,

I will not tell you why

Other than to say

It's always been that way.

Consult a dictionary

If you still don't understand.

But if I'm correct,

You still won't understand.

10/30 Tax Return Fandango

Dumpster dive for receipts

Empty drawers and old files

Build a shrine of financial regret

To the year just gone by

It is April

And once again

Procrastination has triumphed

The threat of deadlines and penalties

Looms ever closer

Despite the year-long vow

To avoid filing for an extension

Again

The option is more attractive by the moment

There will be no juicy return this year

Oh, no.

Money is owed

Uncle Sam is eyeing that wallet

More desperately than in the past

We know the score

Time to pay the piper

We dare not keep him waiting

9/30 The colors of April

The water is freezing,

The waves crash with renewed vigor,

The rocky intertidal has been as near-dead

As the local clam shack for months.

No tourists

Little motion among the boulders

No love.

Each morning the sun casts long shadows earlier

Lingering longer on the horizon in the afternoon

And slowly the seaweed wakes up.

Mucous-filled bladders swell with anticipation

More mucous-y and bladdery and tinged with orange.

The flatworms and nudibranchs rise up in full glory,

Swords at the ready to fight for dominance.

Make lumpfish adorn a crimson hue,

Hoping their color will attract the ladies.

Never does it occur to them that they remain

One of the ugliest fish in the ocean.

Lobsters molt and await the sweet embrace.

Horseshoe crabs crawl into the shallows

With one thing on their minds

Gulls gather tall grasses

Build crude nests for the eggs growing inside them.

Whales put every piece of their skeleton to good use.

The coral broadcast their seed far and wide,

Counting on probability to carry them to a good home.

The water froths with the foam of spring.

With larvae and pollen and the Fucus mucous.

Obscure cells wake from their dormancy

And give each other "come-hither" looks

Winter has gone to bed

Warm winds of change are blowing in on the tides

And everything

Is reproducing.

8/30 Rites of Spring

Snow Shovel,

you do this every year,

taking it personally

when they hang you

in the back of the shed.

You've had your days in the sun

all winter

making short work of snow banks

peeling ice from the driveway

and loving every minute of it.

Of course, you complained about that, too.

They work you too hard, you moaned,

don't take care not to dull your blade,

bend your handle to the point of breaking.

We told you then, and we tell you now:

Quit your whining already,

you big baby.

Now don't get us wrong,

We like you, buddy.

But for a heavy-duty hand tool

you don't exactly act the part.

A little less drama would be nice,

and would you quit acting so jealous and indignant

on those rare instances in deep January

when they reach for the rake or the broom

to pull snow off the roof.

You just weren't built for that kind of work,

and you're afraid of heights anyway.

But for now,

why not just enjoy the weather?

hang out

relax

make the best of it.

You won't be cooped up here all summer, you know.

They're sure to take you out a few times,

use you as a giant dust pan

when they sweep winter sand off the driveway

or clear ash out of the fire pit.

Oh, yes, your allergies.

I forgot, you were all bent out of shape after last year.

I can't help you.

Hang there and sulk until December, if you like.

Just cut the spade and rake a little slack.

Sure, they get out a lot more when the days grow long,

but remember

it's manure they're moving around this time of year.

The snow is all but melted.

The flies will be out before you know it.

You're not missing much. 

7/30 Overdue library book

Your scalding screech

Cast visions of fresh elderberry.

Foolish Brother Robert,

Did you think I wouldn't have known?

You, spreading this nugget of juicy gossip,

Ein Schmuckstücke.

Get your 50/50 tickets now.

6/30 Osterhase takes a year off

It's not just the arthritis,

Though, that is part of it.

It's the exponential growth of the population that's making it so tough.

It was easy enough in the 1700s,

When the only kids that knew I was coming

Were the Dutch kids in Pennsylvania.

And they didn't expect much from me back then.

Those kids were so easy.

Right to bed after sundown without a peep.

All I'd do is show up and lay a few colored eggs.

None of the chocolate nonsense they expect today.

They'd have an empty nest made up all ready to fill.

Usually an upside-down hat or bonnet.

And it wasn't every kid that got the eggs, either.

Only the good ones.

I'd share lists with old Belsnickel so we were on the same page.

Back then, he used to hit the naughty ones with a switch,

But I think I softened him over the years.

Since he started wearing the red suit

He just brings the treats.

When word got out, though

All the other kids started expecting me to show up.

Naughty or nice, if I didn't leave something

I'd get the calls from angry parents.

And these kids expected a basket, too.

A new one every year!

Do you know how many baskets that is?

They use the same Christmas stocking

Why they can't keep their old Easter basket I'll never know.

The arthritis started flaring up in the mid 20th century.

Population had topped 100 million,

And frankly I just couldn't lay the eggs fast enough.

Imported extra from Mexico for a while

Until we got a fertilized batch.

What a media nightmare that was.

I switched back to domestic bunny eggs after that

Which was rough for a few years.

When those plastic eggs came along,

I tell you

I thought my problems were solved.

Cut back on the laying

Started stuffing those things with candy,

Which the kids liked better anyway.

Snapping all those eggs together

Really did a number on my knuckles, though.

The population quadrupled last century,

Does anybody appreciate this?

No - they just want bigger baskets

More chocolate, more jelly beans,

iPod gift cards... do you know how painful it is to lay one of those?

I just can't keep up any more.

Make your own baskets this year.

Lay your own colored eggs.

You'll see.

It's not as easy as it looks.

5/30 Changing of the guard

I make no time for the rumors of lemmings

Choose not to dwell on worries

Of viscosity and thermal breakdown

Tear those reminder stickers off

Minutes after they put them on

This every three thousand miles thing

Is conspiracy theorist nonsense

There is no magic spell for car longevity

We must throw off superstition an embrace the reality of impending doom

When it gets old,

The car will break down anyway.

Let us embrace this glass as half-empty

And enjoy the drink while it lasts.

4/30 Charles' Law Goes on a Diet.

At constant pressure, the volume of a given mass of an ideal gas increases or decreases by the same factor as its temperature on the absolute temperature scale.

The pressure is constant. The volume is variable. The gas is ideal.

The temperature is the dependent variable.

The volume is the manipulated variable.

The temperature scale is absolute.

Absolute temperature.

The volume increases.

The mass increases.

The pressure is a given.

The mass is given, but not ideal.

The pressure increases.

The pressure is the same.

The scale is a factor.

Gas is constant.

It is less than ideal.

The decrease is manipulated.

The scale is constant.

It will not decrease.

Pressure is a factor.

The ideal is pressure.

The mass is absolute.

The scale is dependent.

The mass decreases.

The volume decreases.

The decrease is absolute.

The mass is ideal.

The mass is constant.

The mass is the same.

The pressure is decreased.

The scale is constant.

The mass is constant.

The volume is constant

The constant is ideal.

The marriage conference that transformed us

Eager to improve our communication and keep the spark alive,

We diligently completed the personality self-assessment

At the conference on marriage, love, and laughter.

Tallying our own scores, we were divided into four very scientific personality types:

Lions, Beavers, Otters, and Golden Retrievers.

She, predictably, came up equal parts gung-ho lion and optimistic otter,

While I was dead split task-planning beaver and sensitive golden retriever.

The motivational speaker affirmed that opposites attract,

encouraging us to value our partner's strengths and remember

that no matter what we do, we will never be able to change their animal nature,

Only ourselves and our expectations of them.

We linked arms through the conference,

Exchanged jabs and knowing glances when his comments hit home

And left more in love than we've felt in a while.

Riding home together, side by side, lion-otter and beaver-dog,

We debriefed each other about what we'd learned.

While we were talking, she pulled a large stone and her lunch bag from under her seat,

placing the stone squarely on her chest.

"You know," I said, "I realize I'm not supposed to be critical,"

"but do you think it's safe to be cracking abalone shells like that while you drive?"

A disapproving growl issued from somewhere beneath her ribcage.

Her nimble, furry fingers paused, shell in hand.

"This is my car." she said, "I won't make a mess."

"But what do you think you're doing?"

I paused, mid-bite, removing my long incisors from her dashboard.

"That's not even real wood. I knew I should have gone with a different trim."

I agreed. That plastic trim had a terrible after-taste.

I nuzzled her in apology and gave her my paw.

"I hope your dew claw isn't what I feel snagging my sweater..."

I'm always doing that to her. Never on purpose. Drives her crazy.

"Never mind, it wasn't you. Just a piece of abalone shell.

Look at that - some meat still attached to it, too! Glass half-full!"

I thumped my flat tail in approval and stuck my head out the window,

Wet tongue flapping in the 80 mph air.

"I thought we were supposed to be improving our communication,"

she reminded me.

"In a minute," I told her. "I'm busy appreciating your driving."

She could have roared.

She could have bitten my head off.

Instead, she pawed lovingly at the scruff of my neck,

resisting the urge to remind me

not to shed on the upholstery.

2.5/30 Scathingly Bad Haiku

A joke I heard from David Sedaris this week (in haiku):

Doctor says, "You've got..."

"Cancer... and Alzheimer's." Wow.

Least it's not cancer.

When you "walk" your dog

You know what it's gonna... doo.

His yard? Nah, leave it.

Your diaper box says

These are super absorbant.

Yeah, my shirt is too.

Harry Potter walks

in on Dumbledore naked

and is scarred for life.

On "Do-it-yourself"

Projects, I have my T's crossed.

Still always need help.

Ninja slam costume

suit, mask, nunchuks... April fools?

Damn you, McKendy!

(Matt Richards, Sam Tietel, Tim Veilleux, Mark Palos, whoever else needs taunting.)

Westboro Baptist

Church gets more press than poets.

We need dumber signs.

Guys with prosthetic

legs who live in glass houses

shouldn't throw legs, man.

Chore list while she's gone:

Can't find Swiffer pads. Only

Kotex wings. Floor's clean!

I have got issues

With old folks; driving; slowly;

Through storefronts; naked.

I forget this line

My memory is leaky.

Poetry is hard.

1.5/30 Dredged Up Melody (Sestina)

Sestina for a Dredged up Melody

I came down here fully intent

on purging one more storage box

of all its old junk and failed again.

This worn cassette, the "Eros/Pathos Mix"

Someone made just for me, saying, "Listen,

I love you..." I am vague on the context.

And it's all about context

Not merely content. Mix tapes declare intent,

but you must know how to listen

unpack them like dream meanings, like Pandora's box

Mix tapes are made when our own words are too simple, a mix

of poor diction and things we can never take back again.

I was always taking her back, again.

That was surely the context.

We were an unsustainable mix

of selfless friendship and narcissistic intent.

More pathos than eros, the cassette box

title spoke wisdom in volumes. Our denial did not listen.

Side A, Side B. I am tempted to listen

unearth that yellow Walkman again

dust off the old boom box

hear the wrong kind of love, out of context.

I came down here to clean house. Never intent

on stirring pots. Oil and water still will not mix.

I remember these songs, a mix

of college bands we'd listen

to only on road trips, intent

on enjoying ourselves, always falling out again

just when things got good. Same issue, different context.

Rats in a labyrinth, we were never leaving the box.

I can't sort through this box.

Trash, treasure, and sentiment: Good mix

tapes are scaffolded architecture. Same junk, same boxes, new context

for souvenirs of a self I do not miss. I can not listen

to nostalgia pangs; vowed never to heed again

that atonement and endearment she recorded with structured intent.

I'd hear overtone context, read lines outside the box.

I would know their intent. She crafts a good mix

tape. I can never listen to those songs again.