Universal Truths

featured in the poetry forum June 27, 2015  :: 0 comments

When Bill was a lad
his parents preached that
Scripture was the truth.

Decades later now
Bill still believes that.
In college, though,

his professors told him
science was the truth.
Bill still believes that, too.

But there’s another truth
that Scripture and science
never clarified for Bill.

At age 13 he saw it
scratched on a wall
in black graffiti

above a public urinal,
a universal truth he had
just begun to understand.

The message was
“Big tits are the greatest!”
a truth he still believes as well.

editors note:

Yes! Intelligent Design; faith for the faithless. – mh clay

Caucus at the Parking Meter

April 25, 2015  :: 0 comments

For years Rocky’s Diner had always done a great business for breakfast and lunch but his dinner business had fallen off recently as folks moved to the suburbs, got married, died or simply went elsewhere to eat. He thought about closing early but he had a small cadre of elderly men, many of whom had been his customers for two …

A Night in Morocco

April 21, 2015  :: 0 comments

Middle of the night he flies out of bed
to the commode only to wonder
in the dim light minutes later
if that’s blood or simply a good-bye
from his wife’s stewed tomatoes,
a Moroccan dish she found on the web.

When he asked for a third serving
he pronounced them delicious.
So too, he said, was her dessert,
the Moroccan plum mousse
with the dark plums he likes.
Even with the ceiling light on

he doesn’t know now what he sees
so with his medical history he’s
speeding at midnight to the ER
where the doctor says better safe
than sorry and orders a fast
colonoscopy to solve the mystery.

When he finally gets home, he tells
his wife when her boss comes over
for that big dinner Saturday night,
why not make Moroccan tomatoes
and her magnificent plum mousse.
He may never forget either.

Annual Physical

featured in the poetry forum April 21, 2015  :: 0 comments

You go to the doctor
at 21, no problems.
Maybe a flu shot.
That’s it.

You go to him
at 40, and you
need a pill or two
and he says
watch your weight.

You go to him
at 60, and you’re
now a fixer-upper.
You need more pills,
he says, and
watch your weight.

You go to him
at 70, and he finds
plumbing problems
and asks questions
to verify that all
your lights are on.
Doesn’t mention
your weight.

You go to him
at 80, and he says
you’re doing well,
all things considered,
but it wouldn’t hurt
to put your affairs
in order.

You tell him
you can’t remember
any affairs but he
can ask your wife.
She’s still raising hell
about someone
named Mildred,
if that was her name.

editors note:

Not a bad idea; a yearly check on the state of your affairs, memory withstanding. (Another mad missive from Donal on his page; creative cuisine served as comeuppance – check it out.) – mh

Gramps Is Still Nuts about Granny

featured in the poetry forum February 26, 2015  :: 0 comments

Granny wants to go to a movie
back in the old neighborhood
where she and Gramps used to
neck in high school but Gramps

doesn’t want to drive that far
and tells Granny he’ll go if she sits
in the balcony and wears a skirt
he can slide his hand under

during the Coming Attractions.
Granny asks Gramps if he isn’t
a little old for that kind of thing
and Gramps says he’d rather put

his head under there and let Granny
box his ears with her thighs
and listen to his sighs as he harvests
fruit still ripe in the orchard.

editors note:

Go, Gramps! Up for a balcony bounce and a hip-thrusting harvest. Come again? – mh

Christmas Eve at Rosen’s Deli

December 22, 2014  :: 0 comments

It’s Christmas Eve and Paddy Kelly is on his way home from work at the Post Office. He stops at Rosen’s Deli and orders a brisket of beef sandwich on pumpernickel rye with a smear of horseradish and a new kosher pickle on the side. Ever since he came from Ireland to Chicago, Paddy has preferred the new kosher pickle …

Singles Dance at the Union Hall

featured in the poetry forum December 10, 2014  :: 0 comments

A skirt too tight on Carol Ann
summoned forth a handsome man

who said he had a foolproof plan
to help her get that skirt off

once the dance was over but
she’d have to take him home.

He couldn’t help her now
and interrupt the band.

Carol Ann had often heard
better lines from men and so

she told him she had criteria
to qualify a man who sought

to verify her assets.
First, he had to be a gentleman,

obtain the blessing of her father,
and flash a rock with many facets.

Only then might such a man
have a chance to say “I do.”

editors note:

There’s no pick up line for the long haul; pick up nothing or pick up all. – mh

Big Thanksgiving Snow

November 27, 2014  :: 0 comments

“Sometimes Jesus walked around with a big staff, just like me,” Mrs. Day says to herself as she looks at the frayed picture on her kitchen wall just above the little kitchen table. She cut that picture out of a magazine fifty years ago when she subscribed to Life and Look and Colliers magazines. “Jesus doesn’t need that staff,” Mrs. …

Oaf with Saturday Night Fever

featured in the poetry forum September 25, 2014  :: 0 comments

The urgency of warthogs
wandering in the brush
grunting for ripe acorns
sounds like aging hunters

prowling in a singles bar
late on a Saturday night
half an hour from closing
no beauty queen in sight

till one of them decides
to meet Miss Prim and Proper
who suddenly looks lovely.
But she rejects the come-on

Big Man saved from high school:
“Honey, I have the hot dog
and you have the bun. Let’s
get together and have some fun.”

editors note:

This kind of fit will always be destined to NOT survive. Tell me another one, big boy! – mh

High Colonics in Berlin

July 5, 2014  :: 0 comments

The Nazis call her Hilda,
this ancient woman who
makes a simple living in
a bathroom in Berlin
giving high colonics
to constipated officers.

She helps each man
settle in the tub and asks
“Are you comfortable?”
and then she slides
the nozzle in and says
“Here it comes, Mein Herr!”
and turns the pressure
on full blast.

She loves to hear the officer
yell and curse as water
scalding hot crumples him
and he can’t make it
to the toilet.
Hilda apologizes
for the accident
and leaves the room to
let the Nazi wallow in
his excrement and stench.

Hilda’s real name is
Aviva Goldfarb Stein.
She was a surgeon once,
had a brother die at Dachau
and uses high colonics
hotter than Gehenna
one bastard at a time.