FIVE SHORT POEMS

My Three Boys

“I have three boys,” the young mother says.

Her two youngest on either side, grip her hands.

Her husband towers behind her.

The alcoholic sheen in his eyes makes him look thirteen.

“I can’t wait until they grow up,” she jokes,

rolling her eyes in the direction of her mate.

He continues to smile, knowing the joke

is on him, but not caring. No one has ever

expected him to grow up. Not his parents,

not his wife, not his friends.

He gazes toward his future and sees

a never ending horizon of adolescence.

Putting on the Screws

When you screw up, be sure to

spread the blame around.

Make it everyone’s fault

because they don’t give you enough love.

Target their sympathy.

Tell them you don’t know what to do,

ask them for advice and cry a little,

then ask ‘em for money.

If they turn you down, cry some more.

Talk about your failing marriage,

your fear of losing your kids.

When they say they’ll think about it,

get your pen out.

They’ll be writing you a check

with just one more twist

of the screws.

Occupation

I’m not going to fly jets.

I’m not going to race cars

or be a fireman, or run in the Olympics.

I’m not going to Iraq to fight for my country.

I’m not going to be anything that just by stating it

makes people think of me more seriously.

I train dogs. Not police dogs. Pet dogs.

Little Yorkies that yap, Chihuahuas that snap,

Labradors that eat and eat and eat.

I train their owners. Old people. Young people.

That’s what I do. Something in the Garden Section

of the Oregonian.

Forever  Young

It’s a new fashion trend,

looking homeless.

Scruffy beard,

ratty shorts,

stained t-shirt,

hobbit sandals

with dirty toes showing.

When they were twelve

they were told to wash their hands,

but at 34 they eat with their fingers.

At 40 it’ll be with their toes.

Equal Rights

The young female can only leave

the house when escorted.

When she does

she has to wear special clothes.

After she returns,

she must go to her part of the house.

When she was young,

they didn’t fix her,

and people ridicule her.

They say she’ll be a bitch in heat,

run loose and fornicate.

Their words make her angry.

Last night she chewed up

my only copy of the Qur’an.