Weather

It's getting cold. The weather has been very mild, but winter is indeed on its way, though it won't be official for another month. We should have snow on the ground by now...maybe it's global warming? The winters of my youth were nothing like those of today. Those months were white, icy, with air that seemed to snap. Oh well. I prefer warmth over chill anyway.


Fuel

Glazed donuts burn
really well when they’re stale.
My husband remembers the feed sacks
of leftover donuts
given to his family once a week.
A neighbor worked
at Dunkin’ Donuts and took the unsold
pastries home to split
between her family and his.
My mother-in-law says it saved
the chicken’s asses
as well as theirs.
You can only find
so much wood within walking distance.
The snow was deep
that year. He loved
feeding the donuts
to the stove, fire
snapping from wood
and sugar. The donuts would explode
but produced good heat, fuel
for fire and chickens.

The Little Rat

My son was a rat for Halloween. Okay, he was a mouse, but I call him Rat, so it fit. Why do I call him Rat? It's been his nickname since he was one week old because he was (and is) so squeaky. Stop turning your noses up because you don't like rats.

This poem never happened. Why do people always assume that poetry is truth? They aren't. A poem usually is based in fact...based. One image may be reality, the rest? Fiction. Poets create characters and plots just like a novelist...just in a different form.


Afternoon Discovery

I play pool. I aim
toward the faces
scribbled with marker, courtesy
of my 17-month old son who snuck
his fingers into my scrapbook crate.
Each tiny ball sports
different colored eyes
and what -I think- are pointy
teeth. Some have four noses
and undulating mouths
or a sinister grin. We sit
on the scratchy carpet
while I show him how to aim
and hit. He colors my hands red.

The game is one of those miniature pool tables, in case you're confused.