Just You Wait!

I CAN’T                                                                                                                                                Play hopscotch any more                                                                                                                        Nor skate across an icy floor.                                                                                                                 I know headstands would break my neck                                                                                           I drove my car and caused a wreck.

It’s hard to write a funny verse                                                                                                              ‘Specially when you’re glum and terse.                                                                                                I wonder if I’ll ever see                                                                                                                            a poem sadder than my knee.

Oh I know it could be worse–                                                                                                                 I could have Trumpkin as my nurse,                                                                                                    Pointing at me and saying he                                                                                                                Would never make a pass at me.

BUT                                                                                                                                                     Now I don’t have to clean my plate                                                                                                  Or remember to stand up straight                                                                                                   Oh what fun to say shit and damn                                                                                              while chasing Mary’s little lamb.

Yet no one tucks me in at night                                                                                                          or hugs me as my mother might.                                                                                                        Home made peach ice cream’s the best                                                                                           I’d not swap it for all the rest.

I STILL KNOW                                                                                                                                Little Orphan Annie can say                                                                                                               “Watch out for the Goblins today.                                                                                          They’re bigger than ever                                                                                                                    and terribly clever–”

Citizens United foretold                                                                                                                    The capitalist manifold                                                                                                                    That can squeeze you to death,                                                                                                Enjoying your last breath.

I guess there’s a Devil after all.                                                                                                       Call him a Goblin, you say?                                                                                                             But the evil’s outrageous,                                                                                                                 And even contagious!

GOOD LUCK                                                                                                                                       For the next century–                                                                                                                       I’m outta here.

JUST JOKING                                                                                                                              Though not very funny, I guess.                                                                                                      The whole thing’s a horrible mess.                                                                                                  Oh I’m moved now to barf,                                                                                                                   Do watch out for the scarf!

NEXT SCENE                                                                                                                                Maybe it’ll be better after my                                                                                                                   next round trip down home.                                                                                                             I’ll be pushing up sod                                                                                                                  Second only to God.

You watch; I’ll be back.

 

About Nan Mykel

I used to think I would be a child prodigy, but then I got old. Formerly I had fantasies of rubbing elbows with cultural and academic leaders but that did not come to pass because I did not become a cultural or academic leader or any other kind of leader, for that matter. I am not even an "Alpha Dog," a term learned from a friend who had to become "Alpha Dog" in order to influence her own pet. (When gazes lock, she never looks away.) For years I expected to become a published author, but in passing I could not avoid the fact that I had little to contribute to the world's bulging dumpsters. I'm embarrassed to report that I also considered my primary process artistic productions powerful, rather than mildly neurotic. Which is not to say that I disrespect myself, only that I am beginning to doubt my potential for making a mark on the world. If I focus on strict self discipline I may be able to keep my garbage removed on a weekly basis, to keep the kitty box changed, the clothes cleaned, the dog watered, fed and walked, but that just catches me up to the starting mark again. When writing I physically grapple with words, wrestling them from their indifference into attempted chunks of awareness. I sit heavily on my chair; I breathe in artificially cooled air; my ear drums note the tap tap of the keyboard and the steady uninterrupted sound of the air conditioner, What is that sound? The roar of the ocean from 30 yards away...Inside, my thoughts are are balls in an electronic game machine, bouncing hither and yon from lever to lever. I am a little grim and intent until I recall a dream related by a black man in the prison where I once worked. He said that when he was a small boy, back home, he dreamed he was standing on his front porch pissing, and that he suddenly found himself pissing stars...
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