Prose Poem: The Evil Spirit of Upton Snodsbury, Worcestershire.

 

I read about a man who spent his entire adult

 life parking in new parking spots.

His goal, the newspaper said, was to park in

every parking space in his hometown of 

Upton Snodsbury, Worcestershire.

The minute I finished reading about this man,

I was attacked by a horla -- 

a ghastly spirit of obsession 

that compelled me to seek out innocent

people and murder their time with inanities.

My first victim was an elderly gentlemen

who was sitting on a park bench enjoying

the warm spring sunshine.

I sat down next to him.

"Nice day, ain't it?" I said to him.

"Mmmm . . . yes" he replied distantly,

obviously wishing to savor the warmth

 by himself.

"Did you know" I began,

"that the Sun is about 93 million gallons

fuller than the Earth?"

The old gentleman stared at me.

"Fuller with what?" he asked.

"Of course" I continued insanely,

"the Marblehead Ferry will not

resume service until late May.

And the Chicago Bears are scheduled

for rotary cuff surgery by the Gallup Poll.

Will you hold this string for me?"

I gave the bewildered old man one end

of a piece of string, and then walked away

from him, unspooling the string until I 

was out of his sight, and then tied it off

around a sapling.

I then slunk off, chuckling to myself like a 

madman. 

Next I volunteered at a homeless

shelter,

where I inveigled residents to collect

cigarette butts for a statue of Albert Schweitzer.

They completely stopped their job searches

and apartment hunting 

to waste their time on my bootless task for nearly

two months, before the shelter's director kicked 

them all out and banned me from the premises. 

Then I pedaled my velocipede to 

Washington D.C.,

where I worked as a lobbyist

for the Thomas R. Marshall 

Commemoration Fund.

I button-holed Senators to

give them exhaustive lectures on

why the Washington Monument

should be renamed for Thomas R. Marshall,

the 28th Vice President of the 

United States.

I passed out bubblegum cigars

like crazy -- 

which the fools sat around chewing 

for hours on end.

The evil spirit finally left me to

inhabit a stop sign at Wisconsin Avenue

and M Street.

Now, like Napoleon,

I am banished to Ellis Island --

where I make amends by scattering

sunchoke seeds to the gulls to carry

to Europe -- there to replenish the barren

fields of France and Germany. 

Stumbling Blocks

 

I stumble often on my way

to that happy, holy, day

when with God I am allied,

and not bedeviled by fool pride.

Mercy, Lord, and understanding,

I crave before my next crash landing!

Today's Timerick: Mike Pence.

 

Michael Pence remains serene

navigating Trump's ravine;

loyal as the fam'ly dog,

he's still pushing Trump whole hog.

Though the former president

all his goodwill now has spent,

Pence believes his former chief

still is layered with gold leaf.

Strange as it may seem to some,

Pence will never stay too mum

on the glory and elation

of that golden-haired crustacean.

What's his game, perhaps you wonder --

is it just hubristic blunder?

Or has Pence some darker scheme

to enhance his own bent dream? 

Perhaps he's thinking "O, White House,

I'll fly to you like Mighty Mouse!"

"From there I'll guide the GOP

back to fossil victory!"

Hey Mike, please think of better things.

Cuz we all know who'll pull the strings . . . 

Today's Timerick.

 

“Fried-Chicken Sandwich Craze Is Causing U.S. to Run Low on Poultry.”  Bloomberg Report.

I went to see my butcher for a chicken wing or two/he told me there weren't any and I didn't know what to do/Even stewing chickens are evaporating fast/If this goes on much longer I don't think that I can last/Fish is too expensive and my doctor says no beef/Pork is getting stale for me; where can I find relief?/Will even eggs be rationed and hen gizzards go extinct?/I'll file a missing fowl report down at my own precinct!/I blame the fast food people -- they have gobbled up supply/leaving me with tofu here at home, which makes me cry/I do not wish to have to buy a chicken sandwich, mate/I do not have a budget that such costs will tolerate/I'm reduced to pork & beans, and maybe buttered toast/Gone the days of chicken soup or tender luscious roast!/I may be forced to join a cult and live off nuts and berries/pecking at the kind of stuff they feed to pet canaries!  

Today's Timericks.

 

Biden has proposed such change/it gives Republicans the mange/New taxes will provide the gelt/to keep the poor from growing svelte/To help the homeless destitute/the rich will wear a birthday suit. 

The pundits say commodities/like diapers and our dear Wheaties/are going up in price until/we're gonna holler 'overkill!'/Even tp now will cost/more than silk that's been embossed/With my savings vaporized/I'll give up being civilized.

There's face masks in the gutter/there's face masks in the trees/they're blowing down the highways/with the springtime breeze/like plastic bags they litter/the landscape near and far/they're even clogging sewers/in far off Zanzibar. 

Ole Anthony Edward.

 

Ole Anthony Edward was born again one day.

Embracing gospel teachings, he gave his things away.

Like whiskey, which he still drank, he liked religion straight,

and sought corrupted preachers to gleefully eviscerate. 

His mission, as he saw it, became a great crusade --

to bring to light the hypocrites who sought financial aid

by preaching on the airwaves and asking for donations --

which they used for prodigal big ol' mansions and vacations.

Investigating bank accounts and digging through the trash

of television preachers he found how they spent the cash

that widows sent in envelopes in hopes of intercession

for their sins and trials (with many a trite confession.)

He aimed the spotlight on the lives of many famous clerics,

showing their hypocrisy and causing them hysterics.

But now his earthly time is done, and he's gone back to God --

I wonder if in heaven he still searches for some fraud?

(From an obituary in the New York Times by Clay Risen.)

Today's Timericks.

 

In China nobody retires/they cannot find any new hires/so elderly staff/do not often laugh/as their pension plan now expires.

The Fed's in cahoots with Wall Street/so rich people get all the meat/The rest of us dine/on leftover brine/ and sorghum with cold Cream of Wheat.

Hamburgers are history/according to most GOP/Biden's conniving/to start us all shriving/confessing we'd rather have brie.

A letter from my President.

 

Today's Timericks.

 

Some people are willing to use toxic bleach/instead of a simple vaccine/People won't listen to reason at all/their sanity seems mighty lean/We're better off rounding the scammers all up/and putting them in quarantine.

Ticks that carry Lyme disease/are at the beach, on bush and trees/You can't escape the little critters/ubiquitous as apple fritters/As if the Covid weren't enough/the outdoors grows more rough and tough!

Climate change has come to France/their vineyards do not stand a chance/the grapes are frozen or dried out/which makes the vintners scream and shout/Wine is going to perdition/It's almost like old Prohibition!

Today's Timericks.

 

When they mess with you online/pouring on raw turpentine/pay a charge that's pretty big/to remove each deadly dig/it's a scam, of course; you see/the same who diss collect your fee.

 Thailand wants its tourists back/cuz the country cash does lack/but the covid virus rules/closing bars and beach and schools/Land of Smiles and durian/you won't catch this Missourian.  

Children shouldn't have to fret/they'll lose their home because of debt/When parents cannot make ends meet/the children now will get cold feet/What a sorry country we/have built upon democracy.