The Tail
Rasmussen was supposed to report
back each week.
To tail the target to dinners and meetings.
To take pictures and jot down notes,
names of the faces if he could get them.
The file kept expanding until new files
had to be opened on the others
and who they were meeting.
Soon, Rasmussen felt he was being watched.
He could not prove it any more than his target could.
There was a dire threat to the country,
Rasmussen was sure of that.
He just hoped no one was trying to prove it was him.
The target seemed oblivious, but Rasmussen could no longer
be certain of that.
Perhaps this was all an elaborate ruse to net him.
He could feel his throat closing and he
didn’t know why.
A tiny sound came from down the alley
and Rasmussen turned to find a cat.
He couldn’t be sure how long it had
been watching him.
Its tail hooked like the end of a life-saving pole
at the public pool.
Those tiny eyes of murder
betraying nothing.
Pretending to be an Airport
The local airport is not really an airport at all.
There is a single landing strip which the rednecks
use for the drag races each summer.
There are folding bleachers setup for the crowds
which can just fold back in when the airport
is back to pretending to be an airport.
No one ever takes off or lands from there.
Just a single orange grounded helicopter in case of emergency.
And one building that is always closed.
No one works there, but come racing season
the bleachers are packed.
Cut right out of the Canadian wilderness.
Grease monkeys running around with wrenches.
Racing helmets with tinted visors for all the drivers.
A place to tailgate and four outhouses
brought in for the occasion.
Any Turn of the Soil Left to You
I have these gallant-less earthworm weapons buried everywhere
so that you are probably walking over a few of them as she speaks to you
on matters of etiquette and you wonder who will win the World Series –
the converted doomsday silo idiots are down here too
and as much as I don’t wish to share real-estate with a raving
beard of bees, necessity dictates a certain measure of closeness
approaching a near hug or moaning love bug dalliance so the planets can
feel good about being rocks
is it half-true that your hubby is legally blind
from the waist down?
any turn of the soil left to you I guess and you who always
thought yourself a city girl; if you couldn’t have quiet at least
you had options which are simply weapons of choice in the maniacal
industrial complex or something a little less alarmist if your
devilish sensibilities read dirty books before bed
(I have never understood the cinder blocks of sadism,
perhaps I am infertile and idiot children are beyond me)
I am better prepared than the combined fire departments of the next
three counties which means I have assured myself of the uninsurable
and that gentleman callers in the Freudian sense will dig through
dumpsters of junk science to find something to throw up
in front of your face that is not a mirror.
New Daily Phishing Scam
My wife opens up her email and laughs.
The daily phishing scams are getting more inventive
all the time.
The one this morning read:
Dear Influential Individual…
and suggested that joining the Illuminati
for a limited time would be a great way
to make money.
I like that the Is in both Influential and Individual
are capitalized,
I say.
Shows you just how Important and Influential
you are.
My wife laughs
and tells me the address is:
info@illuminati.org.
How official, I say.
You’d think if I was so Influential that I would
already be part of the Illuminati, wouldn’t you?
she asks.
Well, it sounds legit and we could use the money,
so you better go ahead and sign up,
I say.
I’ll get right on that,
she says.
And then she is off to the kitchen to make her coffee.
It is nice to have a good laugh in the morning.
The phishing scam people did us real solid
this morning.
Wristwatch
He wants to know if anyone
has seen his watch,
but no one pays attention.
He feels the naked sun line along his wrist
where his watch should be,
gets down on all fours to search
under chairs.
A man under the table is licking the carpet
and quickly swats him away.
Tells him he will ruin it for everyone
He stands up and asks again
if anyone has seen his watch.
Nobody even looks at him.
They just keep drinking and laughing
He dig into the punchbowl for his watch
and comes up with lemons.
Sliced nice and thin
with a knife
and probably not
a watch.
Don’t Ever Call A Chipmunk Squirrely
They are already crazy
and on edge
and then you throw shade their way
by implying they are a lowly squirrel,
their largest competition for nuts.
Don’t ever call a chipmunk squirrely,
just don’t!
You will see their tails rise up
as they charge down the fence line
towards you.
They are seriously unhinged
and now you have given them a reason.
They will start to appear in numbers.
As word travels about this latest
affront to all Chipmunkdom.
Then you have a problem.
And all the squirrels in the world
won’t help you.
-------------------------------
With this last poem, I have to play a version of "Nutville." This one is by the Central Washington University Jazz Band: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bx0oXDsIQoI
This is their version of "A Little Minor Booze": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TN0_U3fImmA
"Wide Open Spaces" goes with "Pretending to be an Airport": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RuusxIL1DcQ
I'll finish with their version of "Rhythm-a-Ning": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1xMcHp8Oh_U
How about something by the Nutty Squirrels?
ReplyDeletehttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DuB-JD5qZkI