Ms. Todorean

While Manuel was reading the manual
I was distracted
By a Jack Russell spaniel,
That nasty little dog
Was pissing on my DeLorean,
Disturbing my thoughts
Of lovely Miss Todorean.


Four Tons of Glass

I’m kinda bitter
Regarding all of this litter,
Left here by the slob folk
I tell you brother, that’s no joke,
They make a mess
As if to impress,
Their lack of good taste
And how much they can waste.

Three tons of glass
And it’s only September,
Maybe four tons total
By late December,
And that’s 800 dollars
At ten cents a pound,
Money in my pocket
Just laying around.

Now granted, we had to gather it
And sort it by hand,
Because aluminum and plastic
Are all in demand,
Yet, your average beach drinker
Isn’t very tactical,
Favoring glass as traditional
Although very impractical.

Most of the scavengers
Do not gather glass,
Too heavy and unsafe
So they take a pass,
Leaving it for us
We can carry anything,
We don’t ride bicycles
A car we do bring.


Parking Wish

Handicapped parking spaces
Where almost no one can park,
Are so darned inviting
Near the store, in the dark,
But, forget it, you’ll be penalized
If you use even one,
Parking police come along
And price your ticket on stun.

Looking for a valid space
Where none really exist,
As those handicap parking spaces
Beckon us in the mist,
They look so inviting
Like the most delicious dish,
But only the cripples can park there
While all the rest of us wish.



It is raining like a son of a cloud
Rain drops hitting really loud,
The road is slick and we’re hydroplaning
The puddles suggest it isn’t draining,
Cars and trucks are bouncing around
Slipping sideways on the ground,
Not sure how long our lives will last
But it’s fun to watch, when we drive too fast.



via Daily Prompt: Rhythmic

An important term, to me,
I am a student of rhythms
Of the heart, specifically,
Fast, slow and irregular
Or absent, asystolic,
Just a little more concerning
Than a baby with Colic.




She prays for hours a day
And her husband performs Puja,
She dresses in a burka
Like she wore in Fallujah,
When they go to bed at night
He says honey, please take it off,
The dust on your old burka
It always makes me cough.