“fly on the wall”
As I was having dinner tonight,
near the table where I sat
I saw an unsettling sight.
On the wall alit a house fly
wearing a cowboy hat.
The hat was brown fur felt and quite fine,
but the fly all in all was droll…
for it’s John B. Stetson when you go out to dine.
Any cowboy or fly worth a damn
wouldn’t be caught dead in a Resistol!
Do you see it?
Do I see what?
Well, if you don’t…
What if I do?
Or, if you won’t…
I can’t really say.
Oh well, I’ll just leave it that way.
I think I know what you mean.
I don’t want to make a big scene.
Do you think they see it?
Who…those over there?
Yes…just watch them stare.
I don’t know if they do.
Can you see the ones across the way?
I wonder what they have to say.
I’ll try to squeeze my way around to them.
Be careful…it’s crowded in here.
I’ll be back, if I can see my way clear.
Never mind, just stay here with me.
Surely everyone knows…obviously.
Yep…I think it’s safe to assume.
There’s a great big…
ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM!
By the way…did you notice the Emperor’s new clothes?
Listen to this here:
on a suggestion from my friend, Patti
I rose from my bed
without clearing my head
and went shuffling across the floor
it was dark as could be
but I needed to pee
simply thinking of nothing more
like a drunk on a boat,
my mind was afloat
I swayed back and forth, to and fro
quiet as a thief
I sought my relief
when suddenly…I STUMPED MY DAMNED TOE!
(Image courtesy of artist)
Thanks, Red…cute toes
I spoke to an old friend today
from time to time we chew the fat
we understand each other
him and me
we talked about beer
we know a good brew
about dead-end jobs
and motorcycles too
about old times
and good times
a time or two
we talked about fishin
and how to hunt deer
about too much wishin
and we talked about beer
we understand beer
beer is good
and beer always leads to women
we don’t understand women
we talked about two
the one to which he belongs
and the other I belong to
he’s belonged for nearly thirty years
I’ve belonged for a few months
he’s gone through troubles and tears
I still get lost over the little bumps
I said…then she said
then we said
I should have stayed in bed
then he said
you both need a knot in your head…
we belong to them
we don’t understand them
we say one thing
they hear something else
we hear them
but we don’t hear what they say
my friend says we’re from Mars
they’re from Venus
I said according to her
I’m from somewhere closer to Uranus
he loves his
and she loves him
I love mine
and she loves…
well, I’m kinda out there for now
next to Uranus…but
beer is good
(Image courtesy of artist)
A Sunday 160 on mowing the grass, a task I just completed. I have, in previous posts, given account of my epic battles with my arch enemy, The Green Horde. The following, in 160 spaces, is the latest chapter in that saga…
Have at you!
I humbled the Horde
I felled my foe
tho’ in a fortnight
their number will grow
their strength will regain
as I repeat the refrain
Have at you, Green Devils!
He stands among my books
with that smile on his face
up there on the shelf
without considering self,
For nigh two score years
he’s been grinning there
his palms to the sun
the enlightened one,
We’ve never spoken, not one word
but through thick and thin
he was there with me
I forget him sometimes
and he just smiles
as if he’s looking at heaven
and he’s one of the seven,
For more Buddha inspired poems please visit my wonderful poet friends,
you’ll be very glad you did
As I sat in quiet repose
poring over poetry and prose
an unfortunate gnat flew up my nose!
A nuisance for me
but worse for the gnat
tissue and blow
Sunday 160 @ monkeyman
“The Flea and Me”
I felt an odd feel on my leg,
all I saw was a minuscule dreg;
small as a speck …just an ort,
but an ort of the Siphonaptera sort!
I could see him right there,
round back of a hair, as if he had not a care.
How could this be?
It was a FLEA!
Planning, no doubt, to dine upon ME!
With my finger and thumb
I tweezed at this bum,
but he was too small…too quick.
Then suddenly a kick, he was gone in a tic!
He was just right there,
round back of that hair…now where? Oh Where?
Where did he go?
Down on my toe?
On the back of my hand? Or, on my elbow?
Now something quite queer
is tickling my ear;
is it him? Is it that FLEA?
Oh gee! Is he back aboard ME?
I need some relief
From this blood sucking thief! Good grief!
Oh! Hear my plea!
I must be set free!
Have mercy oh lord…it’s the Flea!… or, ME!
©Tracy H 7/24/2010
I wish I had a photo. I should have taken a picture; my camera was in the seat next to me, but I didn’t. It would have helped you grasp so much better the story I’m about to unfold for you.
As is too often the case, this evening found me on lunch break at my tedious and less than fulfilling (but it almost pays the bills) job again, sitting in my car in line at Micky D’s.
Yes, this is another Drive-Thru Diatribe!
I pull up behind a fellow in a nice pearl-white Cadillac Escalade. In front of the Cadi was a Minivan pulling up to the order menu thing to talk into. I’m thinking, “This is good, I’ll be through here in a jiff.” What was I thinking? It’s a blanking minivan!…and what is the main cargo of minivans…many minipeople! Minipeople are great…I even had one once for a while, but we rode in a little black coupe.
The problem with minivans is, other than the minuscule cargo, they are piloted by, albeit well meaning and responsible, yet cluelessly undaunted, mommies and daddies. Don’t get me wrong, these are professional pilots…they have to be dedicated pros, (though, again, cluelessly undaunted ones), to attempt such a labor as packing a passel of petite peoplings in a modern powered perambulator. This is an undertaking to be entered into with the soberness of a judge, the patience of Job, two ibuprofen, and a valium. I proclaim that, even though he slew the Lernaean Hydra, obtained the Girdle of the Amazon Queen (not really too difficult, heck, I think I have one or two girdles from Amazon Queens here somewhere), and cleaned the Augean Stables, Hercules himself would have failed at the Twelve Labours had one of them been to ferry half a dozen minipeople through the McDonald’s Drive-Thru…in a minivan!
I digress. My story is not about the myriad munchkins in the minivan, but about the witless woman piloting said van. She pulls up to the menu order thing to talk into at 7:06 PM, her left arm hanging out the drivers window, gesturing as she gets the orders from the other occupants of the van. Of course there was no discussion pertaining to what the hungry little humans in the back might want prior to the van stopping at the menu thing, none at all, never is, in my experience…her head is turned to the rear view mirror as the orders from the back are relayed forward…discussions ensue…decisions are tentatively made. She turns to face the menu order talk thing. No, she doesn’t turn her head…she turns her entire body and leans out of the window on her elbows as if she is leaning onto a counter. Both long-fingered hands are gesturing wildly, but I can tell she is ordering 1 of this, 1 of that, 3 of these, and two of those…no, make that 3 of those…the fingers of both hands flare out wide and wave from side to side with palms out to say, Whoa, wait a second! as she turns across her LEFT shoulder to receive an order update from the adult stationed immediately behind her…she returns to the “counter” and continues..4 of those, and 1 of these…make that one a small
(her thumb and forefinger held slightly apart to show the eyeless screen she means “small”), and something else which was a mysterious gesture, maybe a fly landed on her elongated hand, or the valium is wearing off. At this gesture she turns to her LEFT again, this time to give the guy in the Escalade and me a good once-over, as if we are causing HER some kind of problem! 7:10 PM, she gets her fill of Cadillac guy and me, and turns her attention back to the screen, orders are placed and modified a number of times until finally it’s correct, and then one more read through of the order, which has to look like a short story written on the screen, …tic…toc…tic…toc, 7:11 PM…
The driver of the Escalade is having some kind of fit in his plush leather seat, and I could spit darts of pure vitriol in my ravenous rage…the woman swings back around to her proper position and pulls away to pay at 7:12 PM…oblivious to how close she was to becoming a headline in tomorrows news paper…the Escalade guy might have made her a physical resident of that tiny screen had it not been for the debilitating fit he was having.
As I pulled away from the Bag-O-Fat window with my precious Sweet Tea, I passed by the minivan as it was parked for the distribution of the goodies to all of the….THREE…ONLY THREE (two minis, and one full size) people in the back!…ahead of me the Escalade was weaving recklessly all over the parking lot as the gyrating driver counted the heads in the van too.
June 18, 2010 “Blood, Sweat, and Tears”
The only Blood spilled was the Sweat bee’s, and no Tears were shed by anyone.
Mowing the Yard
Because of Main Battle Unit equipment failure I find myself surrounded by my arch enemy, the dreaded…Green Horde! And they are emboldened by the recent rains. I fear the worst is inevitable…the camp will be overrun by the little green bastards! WAR IS HELL!
As the sun strolled over the eastern horizon the day dawned with a glimmer of hope. My battlement was repaired but untested. The enemy, I knew, was dug in and proven in battle to be tenacious. I, alone with my single war implement, stood at the verge of the day’s arena. I beheld my enemy gloriously arrayed on the field of battle in verdant splendor, a fantastic and formidable foe!
The lust for victory was overwhelming. Driven by primitive forces I stepped onto the bloody plain and was compelled to join the fray. My war machine thundered as I threw myself headlong into the center ranks of the enemy. The Green line faltered as I charged in, but they showed their warrior fibre and quickly regrouped. I was undaunted and fearlessly fought step by step blade to blade against the Horde.
Slowly the tide began to turn as I and my machine mowed down line after line of the fearsome enemy. One on one they were no match for me, but en masse they were a force to be reckoned with. And as they marshaled their numbers in thickening swarms my progress was slowed, but never stopped! I battled the Green Horde there under the mid-day sun until exhausted and battle worn I vanquished the last remnant of the teeming scourge. The fallen corpses of my enemy lay at my feet to be trodden under and sent back to the earth from whence they came. What had been, only moments before, a melee of tumult and chaos was now a silent relic of the carnage and horror of war. I had taken the day, the battle was mine. I gathered my weapon and somberly retired from the field. It will be an ephemeral victory.
Bored Talk : Volume 7
Over The Hill…?
As I sit here in the wee hours of my forty-seventh circumnavigation of the sun I am perplexed and somewhat annoyed. Forty-six years of joy and pain, struggle and satisfaction, loss and gain, feast and famine, and to what end? I find myself in the ides of my life considering what things may come in this second leg of my excursion.
Alas, I am waxing philosophical and contemplative and that is not my intention!
They ( only THEY know who THEY are ) always say that around the age of 40 or so you are over the hill. Exactly which hill are they talking about? I didn’t even know I was climbing a hill! Actually life seemed pretty easy up to this point. Back in the day I went off to sleep easily and slept soundly for six to eight hours. I used to just get up in the morning and bound out of bed ready to tackle the world and take the tiger by the tail! I didn’t have to think about the best way to roll to the side of the bed to get the best departure angle for my back’s sake. There was never a second thought given to standing up after rising to the sitting position at the side of my bed in the morning. I never used to waddle like a duck for the first three or four steps in the morning until my back straitened and relaxed. Hair used to grow on my head instead of in my ears…and in my nose…and on my back…and heck, ON my ears ( what’s up with that? ). I make noises now that I only heard my Grandfather and old people make when I was a little kid…grunts and groans and weird breathing sounds! My joints ache, oh, they make noises too. My feet hurt. I hate shoes that tie. I find that I have to make a plan when I have to bend over and retrieve something from the floor, can’t just reach down and pick it up. I have these little gremlin pains and twinges that just occur in places and parts of my body that I didn’t even know were there. I am twice the man I was when I graduated High School, literally! I used to run races that went for 6 miles. Now, I dread walking to the mail box.
I am not at the top of the hill coasting down the other side. Absolutely Not! If there is a hill involved at all…I am at the bottom of it! I have spent the first half of my allotted time cruising along at a comfortable pace. And now, I find myself at the bottom of a very steep hill. I have a long hard climb in front of me to get out of here…
Over The Hill?…MY SAGGY, OLD, ACHY, SORE ASS!… OVER THE HILL?! …FOLKS, IT’S ALL UP HILL FROM HERE ON OUT!
HAPPY *&*^$%@! BIRTHDAY TO ME !