Sunday

Sunday is a day for family.
Time to spend together, chilling.
This is why God invented wine.
It’s to help prevent the killing.

It’s a time to recall old stories.
Reenact them with force.
Reopen some old wounds.
Then, the pasta course.

I’m not sure the term for
A loud, three-way argument.
There’s the same mutual respect
As in the Houses of Parliament.

There’s lots of good food,
So many emotions to tap.
After eating and discussing,
There may be time for a nap.

Sleep with one eye open.
Just sayin’.

Birthday Party

A birthday party is for the young,
When you discuss hopes and dreams.
As you get older, the topics change,
To aches and pains and schemes.

Somewhere about that special time,
A person gets his first real job,
Much of the magic disappears.
As work makes your head throb.

“What are you going to be when you grow up?”
Is a happy question, full of hope.
“Is this what you’re doing the rest of your life?”
Just doesn’t have the same scope.

Also, the toys get much more expensive,
So, the gifts just aren’t as nice.
Eventually, you don’t get toys at all.
You get petty cash or just advice.

A youngster gets his first bike,
And the world becomes his yard.
An old fart gets a generous check,
And thinks, “Pay off Visa or MasterCard?”

Eventually, you discuss deaths.
Remembering the deceased is so much fun.
When the only party guests are family,
You begin to think you’re almost done.

A birthday party for an old fart
Is just a dinner party with cake.
The cake may be sugar or gluten-free,
But, at least you get some cake.

Dreams

Walking down the Seco Creek,
Searching for my dreams.
They’ve dried up, like all this sand,
Like so many other streams.

Wondering where I went wrong,
And what I could have changed.
I’m at the age where it’s too late,
For my life to be rearranged.

Maybe the secret is to settle,
Just accept what’s done is done.
Your dreams may all have passed away,
But there’s still time to have some fun.

Fifty Four

I still don’t feel old,
I guess I really should.
I’m writing my life lessons,
I told myself I would.

I shouldn’t waste money,
But I just can’t be a miser.
I’m another year older,
And another Budweiser.

Salesmen can be useful,
Those just aren’t the ones I get.
Lawyers can be honest,
It’s just not the way to bet.

You can fall in love,
You can fall in really deep.
But whomever you may find to love,
No-one beats a good night’s sleep.

It’s too late to be on the stage,
I’ll just stand here by the riser.
I’m another year older,
And another Budweiser.

Lots of (funny) failures,
Very occasional success.
I’ve tried to be myself,
Just never to excess.

I made fast food in high school.
Burgers, fries and all.
So, I’m an unemployed chef
Whenever Food Network calls.

I won’t ever be a King.
I won’t even be the Kaiser.
I’m just another year older,
And another Budweiser.

Taxes

Ouch.
Damn.
I hate April 15th.

I don’t mind paying for NASA.
We need all our armed forces.
We need trains and highways.
We should protect our resources.

Some of the rest is a waste.

The TSA is worthless.
They don’t make us feel secure.
Tell airlines, “It’s your problem.”
That could be a cure.

Need a job?
Don’t shed another tear.
Go be a farmer in Mexico.
(All their farmers are here.)

The best way to save money?
How to shrink the budget’s girth?
It’s really very simple.
Just pay Congress what they’re worth.

Depression

I’ve got dogs.
I’ve got family.
I’ve even got a wife.
I’ve got office shit (like many.)
it’s a complicated life.

I just can’t get it started.
I just can’t get out of bed.
I can’t even write this poetry.
it’s just sticking in my head.

There’s too much all around me.
I can’t keep track of time.
The world will keep on spinning,
While I slowly lose my mind.

I’ve tried to have a latte,
I’ve tried to drink green tea.
Neither one is very calming,
They just flow right out of me.

I need a good vacation.
I need some time alone.
The problem with vacation,
Is that you have to come back home.

I shouldn’t be complaining.
I’ve got all kinds of stuff.
I just can’t find my inner peace.
It must be buried in the fluff.

I just can’t get it started.
I just can’t get out of bed.
I can’t even write this poetry.
it’s just sticking in my head.

Someday, I’ll be at peace.
I’m sure I’ll find a way.
Until then, I’ll have depression.
It’s back to bed to stay.

Security

I feel very secure these days.
My bank canceled my card,
Even though I didn’t go to Target.

I had extra money last month.
I was finally treading water,
Instead of drowning in debt.

Turns out, the extra money
Belonged to lots of companies.
They all charged my old card.

Boing! Boing! Boing!
The sound of charges bouncing.
No wonder I had extra money.

Oops.

So, paying double bills now.
Updating profiles everywhere.
Ah, back to drowning.

Thanks, Target.

Reality TV

I’m thinking my life should be reality TV.
I’d call it “Dogs Are Sweet But Expensive”.
No, “Wives Are Sour But Expensive.”
Maybe, “Single Was Lonely but Quiet”.

My wife will kill me when she sees this.
Wait. A cranky guy shot by a bitchy relative?
Wasn’t that one season of “Dallas”?
I may need to work on the concept.

I guess “working on the concept”
May be against the idea of reality.
We would turn on the cameras,
Then, see what happens next.

Here’s episode one as shot.
“What kind of dog is … I’m bleeding!”
We forgot Katie doesn’t like strangers.
They quickly stopped filming.

They hadn’t even met the other dogs.
They hadn’t met my wife, either.
I was a bit afraid that she would bite.
I told her she was the star, just in case.

A new cameraman eventually arrived.
The, as the crew walked down the hall,
My wife rather gently asked that
They avoid some of the rooms.

Of course, she’s Brooklyn-Italian, so
For showing on network television,
It would have to play back as
” Not in there!”

The crew followed me on my way to work,
Which was an hour of ing and crying
Down a perpetually under construction road.
The only drama was the Lexi constantly weaving.

I’m thinking we’ll get canceled.
Real reality is not that interesting.