Dogs should doze all day

aren’t dogs supposed to doze all day

doped up on sunshine on the living room floor

half eaten rawhide at their side

waiting patiently for Master.

instead this one dozes half the day,

energized enough to destroy a gate

and go looking for Master only to

remember he’s not allowed to cross

the street, finding himself back at the

gate, depressed and discouraged that

Master is not there and he is standing

outside the gate, despondent that

he is not dozing on the living room floor,

doped up on sunshine. 

Gripping the Fat Meter at the Fair

he told me to hold it like a steering wheel,

not telling me I was driving directly into a ditch

filled with other porkers like me.

my number on the body fat index was,

well, let’s not go there, shall we,

yesterday I wrote I’ll get thin, bare my skin,

maybe I better hold off on that

for now.

In Place of Harvard Tuition

I'll have a massage or two,
every month, heck, weekly,
and still save money
for you, honey.
We'll party in Paris,
dance in the Dolomites,
bike across the Balkans,
and still save money,
honey,
I'll color my hair, get thin
and bare my skin, all with
a grin as I save money,
honey.

Cutting it short, an afterrnoon at the hairdresser

fix it so I can stop wearing this hat

only removing it to put my helmet on

or to sleep once the lights are turned off.

fix it and remind me not to let the other

hair stylist talk the whole time wielding her

scissors like a wanton axe as I

watch with horror, my hair falling

away to reveal a mullet.

fix it, cut it off, do something,

quick.

Calling Dad, or not....

"I love Mama" tattooed across his left shoulder,
ratty muscle shirt draped over skater shorts
whizzing by I had to slam on my brakes to avoid
hitting him hearing him saying "Hi,Dad".
how sweet that he loves his parents looking so
tough, so young, so ....cool I caught up
with him at the stoplight, his tattoo didn't read
"I love Mama" just my imagination that tough
kids love their mom and he didn't call Dad either,
just a friend, but he called after me as I rode
away from him, "I would have called my
mom, though"

Passion and Piss

she described me as having the right mix of passion and piss,
is that the same as when he called me a junkyard dog, or
something like persistent, relentless or annoying perhaps
too much and hey, lay off already!  or only at a distance
not if you live with me and the dogs are lying on the couch
after they came in from pissing all over my rose bushes.
crap.

Fighting for the Neighborhood

I'd rather sit by the fire eating cookies and drinking hot toddies,
or curl up in my chaise or pour pesto over hot pasta to accompany my wine.
I'd maybe rather be cleaning the bathroom than stepping out in the rain
to walk past that once-lovely house with the double wide upended trailer
pasted on its back end, but alas! I must!
Aah, the absentee landlords which send out mass mailings to us fortelling
our misfortune should we fight for the neighborhood that we love.
I'll rouse myself, put on my oilskins and boots, and face the Council
to deliver our message of love of our little neighborhood with its little

quirky houses, eclectic crew and lovely Garden, too