Fall Guy

Speckled gourds and pumpkin pie

Picking chestnuts where they lie

Parsnips breaking through the soil

Beetroot ready for the boil

Plump tomatoes on the vine

Pressing apples, homemade wine

Mason jars stacked row on row

Lavender tied with a bow

Farmers whistling an old tune

Underneath the Harvest Moon

Creature Feature

pizza – Hungr Blog

When dining out we’re well aware

Our manners are on view

We open doors like Fred Astaire

Insisting… After you!

Which silverware to use and when

And how to hold a glass

While tackling pommes parisienne

Delineate one’s class.

But not so in the cinema

The difference is stark

Because it’s hard to be bourgeois

And crack nuts in the dark.

The lighting’s low so patrons know

When they’re not being watched

It’s fine to eat an Oreo

Retrieved from off your crotch.

You eat out of a bucket

Like a hog out of a pail

And when you’re done, you chuck it

Like a Molotov cocktail.

Wonder what life’s like inside

A real safari park?

Round up loads of humans

And then feed them in the dark.

Game of Cones

I have a dog whose name is Spark

Who sometimes takes me to the park

Where we enjoy an evening stroll

I feed the ducks; he’s on patrol.

An old pro, Spark knows all the tricks

From playing dead to fetching sticks

His latest one involves a scheme

Which bags him loads of free ice cream.

He’ll spy a toddler on his own

Who’s struggling with a waffle cone

One far too big for little hands

And all the balance that demands.

Spark uses charm and big, brown eyes

To get him closer to the prize

Then as he nears these little ones

That’s when he grabs the cone and runs.

I’m deeply saddened by each theft

And every howl from the bereft

Whose double-scoops of lemon lime

Perpetuate this life of crime.

The mothers round on Spark and curse

So I make sure they’re reimbursed

Which throws the whole plan in reverse

For he was taught to steal a purse…

Less Cargo

SnailSnap Shows City Heat May Be Turning Snails Yellow - The Atlantic

Our friend, the snail, needs never pack

For all it owns is on its back

It heads out on the open road

Quite unencumbered by its load

Snails never need to book hotels

Instead they curl up in their shells

Emerging when they feel the need

To partake in an evening feed

We mock the snail, its sluggish pace

And yet some pay to watch them race

Ironic, say the French, and crude

Who view them solely as fast food

Present Tense

goat in Santa hat | Eden Hills

The day I want to bake some bread

You’ll be the first to know

Were you confused that time I said

I need to make more dough?

And should I wish to buy a goat

Around the holidays

Feel free to name it but take note

I’d like it honey-glazed.

A scented candle lets me know

Exactly what you think

You’re hoping when it’s all aglow

At last, my house won’t stink.

That weird liqueur with toads inside

Distilled by monks in France

Soon made me wish that I had died

Then made me shit my pants.

The Cookie Monster sweater seemed

To spread more disarray

On seeing it, the baby screamed

And both cats ran away.

Gym memberships address excess

With weights or on a mat

Do you think I need to de-stress

Or is it that I’m fat?

It’s not the gift, John, it’s the thought

While this, no doubt, is right

It’s what they’ve thought, not what they’ve bought

Which keeps me up at night.

Beached Wail

Image result for shark near swimmers

The great white’s famous for its size
So when you see its dorsal
It shouldn’t come as a surprise
You may be its next morsel
Don’t try to swim or duck and dive
From Carcharodon carcharias
It views each move to stay alive
As utterly hilarious
But be aware some do swim by
For quite another reason…
Just hope you never catch its eye
During the mating season

Watch Your Tongue

When canny cannibals suggest

You call round as a dinner guest

You’re right to feel suspicious

They’re hoping you’re delicious

And if the book next to the pan

Is How To Serve Your Fellow Man

It’s time to quit the venue

‘Cause guess who’s on the menu?