For Cee’s FOTD
For Cee’s FOTD
Canned Cantos
Behold the simple can of soup.
Outside it’s hard. Inside it’s goop.
Cream of mushroom, turkey noodle—
kids adore the whole kaboodle.
Crass men raid the chicken coop
to gather poultry for our soup.
They chop up onions, slice potatoes,
murder mushrooms, slay tomatoes.
Must Warhol then immortalize
this canned concoction I despise?
The world agreed. He must. He should.
They called his canned art very good.
Yet this icon that he chose
to paint and to overexpose,
I could easily view myself
lined up on my kitchen shelf.
Why pay a thousand bucks or more
for something that each day I pour
into a pan and then ingest?
I think, friends, that it was a test
to see how gullible we are.
As we made this elf a star,
fanned his fame, increased his rank,
he laughed his way right to the bank.
Green Door
Not a wall. A door at most.
Barely more than lath and post.
Peep hole worn by questing fingers––
a lost soul whose presence lingers.
What has this fortress kept inside?
What prisoner trapped? What captive died?
We have no idea––none at all
of what was kept behind this wall.
As paint peels off and dust invades,
the story ages, wanes and fades.
The story too grim to express?
They leave it up to us to guess.
For Friday Fictioneer45: 77 words
Turning the Tables on the Milkman
Throw clothes over your birthday suit, it’s fast becoming dawn.
We need to be respectable, so put your jammies on.
The milkman will be coming and it would be a plus
if when we met him at the door, we had some clothes on us.
Mere speed will not suffice, dear. We also need some raiment.
No need to let the milkman in on our entertainment.
For milk upon our Fruit Loops, there are obstacles to hurdle
if we want to eat before the milk begins to curdle.
My walker in the hallway, your cane dropped on the floor,
the stairway to maneuver, the deadbolt on the door.
Folks as old as us should have passed this lusty phase.
Bed for us should merely be a place to laze.
So smooth your messy hair, dear, and try to look less daring.
No need to let the milkman in on fun times we’ve been sharing.
We should be sharing pastimes like t.v. and crossword puzzles.
Who would suspect that we are still into passion’s nuzzles?
So in spite of all the cheap jokes, no milkman will succeed me.
When it comes to filling orders, my wife still seems to need me!
For Cee’s FOTD
