Category: Relationships

Stress Kills

When Woman has a bad day,
Man hears about it.
Loud and long.
Man finds this stressful.

Stress is bad.

When Man has a bad day,
Women hear about it.
Loud and not so long.
Woman should find this stressful.

Instead, Man is then asked,
“Why are you blaming this on me?“
So, now, Man has work stress.
Also, he owes Woman an apology
For the crime of attempted stress.

Man must apologizing to Woman
For something Woman does to Man.
Man does not know how to apologize.
Man does not understand the issue.
This is extremely stressful.

Double stress is really bad.

Man drops dead of stress.
Woman says, “He was so young.”
Woman takes a cruise to relax.
She throws Man’s ashes overboard.

No more stress.

Woman has a bad day.
She goes shopping
With her inheritance.
Finds some goodies.

No more stress.

Insomnia

Can’t… Sleep…

Every single night,
Between the dusk and dawn.
I wake up with a fright,
To find my lover gone.

Is she visiting the bathroom?
Did she go to poop or pee?
If so, she’ll be back soon.
Flushed with victory.

Could she not fall asleep?
Did she move to the recliner?
Did she find another cabin?
Am I on an ocean liner?

Did she go to walk the dog?
I heard no toenails on the floor.
Did she leave for someone else?
Does she not love me anymore?

Did she flee to see her sister?
Did I do something wrong?
That’s probably not the answer,
She wasn’t gone that long.

Did she need a midnight snack?
Perhaps she’s feeling yucky.
Was she murdered in her sleep?
I would never be that lucky.

Parenthood

Can someone hold my child?
I am so completely enraged,
I probably should not
Be near him currently.

There is a wide, black trail of
Instant Coffee, running from
My kitchen to the bedroom.
Across my new white carpet.

My husband said he calls it,
“The Trail of Tears.”
Someone should hold him, too.
In case this becomes a rampage.

Deep breaths.
Deep, cleansing breaths.
Maybe a glass of Chardonnay.
It’s better now. Somewhat.

It’s just a very messy line.
It will all come out in the wash.
It’s not really grounds for murder.
It’s not even grounds for divorce.

Grounds.
He he he he.
I crack me up.
I better start cleaning.

Country Klutz

Just got paid,
Got a brand new car.
Time to grab my baby,
Head to the ER.

Gonna ask her Momma,
Have to ask my Dad,
“Do you think it’s broken?”
“‘Cause she’s limpin’ real bad.”

Time to get married,
Gonna get her a ring.
Just as soon as a doctor
Inspects that wasp sting.

Today’s at the orthopedist,
Hopping through the door.
I have a bad case of deja vu,
‘Cause we’ve been here before.

When she hears or sees an insect,
She’ll attempt a triple lutz.
She’s on the ground, whimpering.
I’m married to a klutz.

Grandparents

What do you call your grandparents?

A grandmother wants control of her title.
Choosing what she is called seems vital.
Some will never be “Grams” or “Granny.”
They want to be called “MomPlus” or “Sammy.”

Grandfathers don’t really seem to care.
Since we get called random terms here and there.
I have been “Grandpa”, “Papa”, “Grampy”, so to speak.
All of those were just in the past week.

Next time, I’ll have another name.
I will probably have myself to blame.
I said my name was King Frank-Bob.
We’ll see if that’s accepted by the mob.

I answer to the term my grandkids choose,
Either good or bad, win or lose.
Call me a saint or call me a sinner.
Just don’t call Grandpa late for dinner.

Strings

I found an old guitar …

I found an old guitar,
Up in the attic at my Mom’s.
She said it was my Grandpa’s.
He would play it on the lawn.

I never knew he had one.
I never knew he played.
Yet, I could almost hear him,
As I saw the strings were frayed.

I took it from the attic,
I had it cleaned and tuned.
I tried to learn to play it.
I wanted music to resume.

I wonder if he wrote a song.
I wonder what he played.
I’d like to sing it with him.
My memories ceased to fade.

When you’re listening to a concert,
Watching some now famous star,
You should think about his Grandpa.
And wonder if he played guitar.

 

The Texas Volunteers

Hats off to the Texas Volunteers!
They’ve been marching on for many years.
They rose up when they heard the call,
They came together, one and all.

Patrolling someone’s vast estate
A mission that became their fate.
Keeping watch from some tall tower,
Often drenched by a sudden shower.

There was never a bet they couldn’t make.
There was never a chance they wouldn’t take.
They often find themselves at disadvantage,
Yet I’ve become their collateral damage.

I fight with the Texas Volunteers,
With Texas sand between their ears.
They take every job that they can see,
But then they always stop to ask “Why me?”