Sole Mates

Handsome young runner tying shoelaces on the track in the spring ...

Park Guy

Running by

Catching everybody’s eye

Chiseled face

Killer pace

Never comes in second place

Hasn’t time to stop and chat

Training isn’t meant for that

Sprints past like a thoroughbred

Focused on the road ahead

You enflame

It’s a game

Will I ever learn your name?

Park Guy

Running by

Catching everybody’s eye

Heart Failure

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My valentine suggested wine

I bought the best champagne

Then after making love we dined

On Chocolate Frangipane.

Why don’t we do this every night?

She cooed after our frolics

So, now we do and that is why

We’re toothless alcoholics.

Viral Spiral

man in black t-shirt and blue denim jeans sitting on tree branch

I thought my life was going well until I watched TV
Where some young thing in yoga pants screamed: Get off that settee!
She told me that I eat too much and ought to exercise
And should feel guilty every time I supersize my fries.
I changed the channel just in time because I got upset
Only to hear a psychic say he talks to my dead pet
I simply had to call him up and he’d unleash his power
Connecting me with Fido for just fifty bucks an hour.
Another channel change heard women speak of me with scorn
Declaring we’d be better off if no more boys were born
Apparently we’re toxic and we break a lot of hearts
I think these women, if they could, would cut off all my parts.
A cooking show chastised me for my love of microwaves
Ignoring their convenience and the time this gadget saves
I’m now to slow-cook every meal and simmer under lids
So suppertime’s now midnight – explain that one to the kids.
I’m also nowhere green enough because I still eat meat
Instead of chewing watercress whilst farming in bare feet
They warn our homes are killing us – we shouldn’t live indoors
Though living off-grid didn’t really help the dinosaurs.
Global warming, rising crime and famine ‘round the globe
Because I don’t like rainbows I’ve been called a homophobe
I won’t be blamed for everything the media imparts
I only turned on Channel 4 to watch a bit of darts.

Decimulled

AOL You've Got Mail Voice Man Is an Uber Driver

I have a friend, Mr Dearden

Statistics say he’s one in ten

Who lives at Number 2-2-3

Look for the house that has a tree.

His job is fixing old machines

Throughout the night, by any means

Days off, he reconditions cars

And meets his mates in select bars.

Devoted uncle, brother, son

He always calls before I’ve rung

To wish me all the very best

Before my family’s even dressed.

We’ve different circles, different pasts

And yet this quaint connection lasts

For out of nowhere he’ll appear

If only once or twice a year.

As for this figure: one in ten

I’ll need to look at it again

For should I know one million men

I could not meet as dear a friend

St Valentine’s Day Mascara

Monkey Waiting for a Kiss

I gave my heart to you, my love
One February night
Invoking all that’s up above
I prayed you’d hold it tight.
And after we had made romance
(for that’s what I still call it)
You rose and gave a loving glance
Then made off with my wallet.
The next day you were seen at lunch
With someone I don’t know
But looking back, I have a hunch
It was with your new beau.
I hope the roasted Cornish hen
And champagne went down well
Before they came right up again
And cleared the whole hotel.
According to my Visa bill
You both then saw a play
A great night out is greater still
When you don’t have to pay.
Despite the slight cost overrun
At least I’m not alone
For in your haste to kiss and run
You left behind your phone.
And so, my love, for us it ends
As does your victory lap
For you’ve just texted all your friends
To say you’ve got the clap.

Local Weirdough

“I’ve gone into hiding.”

“We’re in a Pizza Hut.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Laverne lowered her voice. “Look around… what do you see?”

“Happy fat people.”

All of them?”

“All the ones eating pizza,” I was able to confirm.

“What about him on his own over at the salad bar? What’s his story?”

“That’s a woman.”

“Okay, whatever, but ask yourself this: what type of person comes to Pizza Hut to load up on celery?”

“Maybe she’s the nurse.”

“Restaurants don’t have nurses.”

“This one should.”

“John, what am I always telling you?”

“It’s only a phase?”

“That was your mother.”

“Never make eye contact while eating a banana?”

“That was your cellmate.”

“If someone’s crying don’t ask them if it’s because of their haircut?”

 “There are two types of people in this world: those who like pizza and -”

“- nurses?”

“Communists.”

“You’re why aliens don’t talk to us.”

“The Macarena is why aliens don’t talk to us,” Laverne sniffed. “Anyway, I need to talk to you about something else.”

“Shoot.”

“How can I get myself into The Bible?”

“Oh my God…”

“Is that what I should do? Should I pray?”

“That wasn’t praying.”

“Then you, my friend, have just blasphemed,” Laverne waved a menacing finger in my direction.

“Since when have you been religious?”

“Pam’s published an eBook.”

“And…”

“It’s a collection of poems which are just dreadful.”

“So…”

“I think one’s about me.”

“Because…”

“It tells the story of a beautiful Mesopotamian goddess.”

“You’re from Wisconsin.”

“Maybe it wasn’t always called that.”

“So, you’re thinking that if you’re a goddess you should be in the same book as God.”

“I should at least be on the cover with Him,” Laverne reasoned.

“Right, here comes the waitress so would you please come out from under the table?”

“Are you ready to order?” the young woman asked.

“Have all of these animals on the menu been freshly killed?” Laverne enquired, emerging to take her seat.

“Please excuse my friend, she’s Mesopotamian,” I interjected.

“Uh huh…” the waitress was going to need a lot more.

“She was just looking for somewhere to bury the leftovers.”

“You’re not really allowed to do that,” she advised us.

“Then I’ll just have the buffet special,” Laverne set down her menu.

“Anything to drink?”

“I’ve just topped up my gourd so that won’t be necessary, thank you.”

“I’ll have the Buffet Special and a Coke,” I jumped in again.

The waitress stared at her pad, unsure of what to write.

“Two Buffets Specials and one Coke.”

“Right,” she sighed with relief. “You confused me there for a minute.”

“I apologise,” Laverne continued, “it’s just that all of this takes me back.”

“All of what?” the waitress asked.

“These ancient murals. That one, for example, is it Babylonian?”

“That’s Cher at The Oscars.”

“So it’s not a mummy then?”

“I can check, if you’d like.”

“Would you?”

“I’ll be right back with your drink so please help yourself to the buffet,” the girl managed to get out, before backing into the table behind her on her way to the kitchen.

“Mesopotamia?” Laverne laughed.

“From a mud hut to Pizza Hut within the blink of an evil eye.”

“We’ve got her on the run, poor thing.”

“Excuse me, but did you find your earring?” a dashing maître d’ approached our table.

“How did you know that’s what I was looking for?” Laverne asked, delighted.

“It’s my job to notice everything. For example, I also noticed that you didn’t order a drink. May I get you one now?”

“A gin and tonic would be lovely,” came the order.

“When I return, I’ll help you look for your earring,” he promised, before waltzing off.

“Dark and swarthy with an accent. Good thing he wasn’t selling sand because you’d have ordered it as a starter.”

“You know us Valley Girls,” Laverne sighed, “we just can’t resist a man in cuneiform.”