re-gifting

Bushy, the Family Mascot

Grandma’s house all packed up -

Ugly kitschy handmade crafts

Like beaded styro-Easter eggs,

Latchhook koala prints,

and advent Christmas wreathes,

Divvied among the grandchildren.

We being so “lucky” to attain

Bushy, the glass, nut-eating squirrel paper weight

That “accidentally” hopped in my brother’s family van

Upon our departure,

Only mailed to me later in the week

But resealed and returned to sender,

Until Bushy showed up on our doorstep

With a chocolate-heart-covered Valentine nut.

Then, Bushy snuck back to my brother’s fam,

Hiding as a toilet-paper holder in the bathroom

For Easter.

Not to be outdone, Bushy came back bearing

A May Day basket of cashews.

No worries though,

Bushy rallied with

A little duct tape, cardboard, and a shoestring-end tassel

To make a fine mortarboard

Dropped off on the reception table at Jilly’s graduation.

Oh, Bushy’s a sly one

But he’s the gift that keeps on giving

The whole year through…

Challenge Winner

Wherefore art thou?

(inspired by a dare challenge to add an additional ending to a famous story over on www.jmprescott.blogspot.com)

Romeo:
Hark! The bless-ed fools
have taken their leave
And we must do the same.
For come morn, the nurse be blamed
If no bodies
she may pass for our twisted fate
lie within our coffined crates.
Nary shall they believe;
Questioning
our deathly repent
With poison of hand,
the collapse of heart,
a bloodless dagger brandished,
and the magic with which thee deceive.

Juliet:
O, Romeo! They doth not be privy of
Monty and Caprice Smythe?

Romeo:
Awe, they know not of our flight
As newly changed pedigrees
Nor our procurement in Heathen country

Juliet:
Ye, thy thoughts of Woebegotten Tavern
Serving servants and princes alike
Lantern light
for weary travelers on each dark night
With masks donning walls of brick
And thou handsome face,
Should but a Montague trace
Thy steps and
Set cursed foot upon the newfound soil
And destroy all ye thought-out toil.

Romeo:
Worry not, my fairest wife,
For ours be a story not of tragedy untold
But love beyond the shadows of doubters’ kin
And a future set on the child within

Yesterday’s Memory Lane

Simpler times of jarring fireflies
By paper lantern
after charcoaled smores
For the kids who did their chores before
Allowed outdoors
and sent to play with
Friends at the end of the day as neighbors
Dropped by to the sounds
of the British Invasion
on the 45 while
Walt mans the grill with
shish-kabobs and hot dogs
and relish trays of sweets and dills eaten
By folks spilling in
as a round of croquet
Begins with horseshoes and Frisbee
for the teens that wait
till the adults are knee-deep
In cocktails to ask for car keys
so they can dive in
to the Chevy to head
for the drive-in where
The Blob scares and the
boys make dares of
bra pinching and
Frenching.

But the only
thing that’s remained the same is
the umbrella-ed
drinks slurped down on Memory Lane…

Featured in the Glass Coin

The Dirty Dance We Do



Cool, rainy, worthless day -

Our love-hate relationship continues.

No tanning weather

For my Vitamin D fix

And your puddles hinder my running,

But maybe you are my excuse

Because big girls don’t cry

About crappy weather.

We snuggle under blanket layers

With our BBQ kettle chip bag

Escaping to Kellerman’s

With Baby and Johnny

Because there’s no doubt,

If given the chance,

we would

Have carried

A watermelon, too.

Invisible Landmarks of Love


Right down the street
In the middle of town
Past the library and Dairy Queen
You’re gonna come up on
The intersection of 59 and 6
And you’re gonna need to turn left
And it ain’t gonna be marked.

It’s just a little two-lane county road
But you’ll see it -
You just make a left at the gazebo.

Nope, there’s no stop sign.
City hall is right there on your right,
But your best bet
Is simply to look for the gazebo…

That’s what we used to tell people,
But that’s the great thing about a small town.

Now we just say:
Yeah, turn where the gazebo used to be
And you’ll get there.

That’s the fun of small towns
And landmarks -
They stick around long past their expiration date
And nobody quite forgets them,
Just like the E.B. loves J.C. carved in the oak tree
Up on Mill Road opposite where the gazebo was laid to rest.