"Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel . . . "
Genesis 49:4
Unstable as water, my wavering strength
can rush unabated to flood any length --
or pool into sorrow for sins yet to come;
O Lord, I feel covered in black faithless scum!
Help me rejoice in thy promises sure,
and find in thy laws saving fountains so pure!
Lucky East Coast residents, who had the sweetest brand
Things were going pretty smooth at work.
I'd been back for a month
when the boss called me into her office.
She did not greet me wreathed in smiles.
She said "Torkildson, you've been in your
comfort zone for too long. Hasn't the
pandemic taught you anything?"
"Glub glub glub" I replied intelligently.
"From now on you're to keep your left
hand immersed in iced Tabasco Sauce eight
hours a day" she told me.
I thought to myself "Everybody else is
quitting their jobs and going to live in
Tahiti -- I'll do the same!"
But when I opened my mouth
out came: "Yes, ma'am. Glub."
I slunk back to my desk, where
I found a stainless steel bowl full
of iced Tabasco Sauce waiting for me.
*******************
When I got back to my boarding house
that night my left hand was throbbing.
Mrs. Hoffnagel, the landlady, greeted me
at the door.
She announced: "We're having salmon patties
for dinner tonight."
I said: "You know I'm allergic to salmon. May
I have just a salad please?"
"No!" she replied in ringing tones.
"I'm taking you out of your comfort zone
for your own good. Imagine -- you,
a bachelor at 35! You need some shaking
up so you'll get on with your life." Her
arms were akimbo.
"But I lost my parents and my fiance
during the pandemic" I said quietly.
"Nevertheless" she shot back, performing
Katchaturian's Sabre Dance with a steak knife,
"You'll eat the salmon and like it. Your
comfort zone has held you back far too long!"
I slunk into the dining room and pretended
to eat the salmon patties --
pushing them under my plate when
no one was looking.
****************************
"Father, I have sinned" I started to say
to my priest while we were in the confessional.
The smell of wax candles always soothed me, so
I had gone down to Saint Andrew's after dinner.
"Stop!" the priest commanded from the
other side of the grille.
A dormouse crawled over my shoe.
"You're too comfortable with your sins"
he said quietly. Butter wouldn't melt
in his mouth; but margarine might.
He continued: "I want you to give away
all your wealth, join the Ukrainians
in their fight for freedom, and wear
sandpaper under your shirt for the rest
of your life."
*********************
I had my leg shot off at Kyiv.
I traded the sandpaper under my shirt
for a ride to the nearest hospital in Macedonia.
There I caught the Coronavirus Lambda variant
and was quarantined in a comfort zone for six
months.
When I got out my feet smelled like
the wick of a kerosene lamp.
But otherwise I'm still voting for
Ted Cruz when I get home again.
"But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive."
Genesis 50:20.
To save much people God allows
the evil acts of men to rouse
the storms of war, deceit, and hate --
but in His hand are all men's fate.
He raises one, another fails;
but in the end His might prevails.
Small and delicate --
this girl child looks at the world
through white angel's wings.
Hot tub in winter?
Are these kings and princes or what?
In my day . . . spinach.
Restore me, mountain!
Refresh me, waking sun glimpse!
March morning cornflakes.
"For 23 days starting in late January, downtown Ottawa served as a parking lot for hundreds of heavy-duty trucks, pickup trucks and other vehicles, operated by individuals who said they were fed up with the social restrictions and vaccine mandates meant to contain the spread of Covid-19."
WSJ
Tommy the trucker was fed up to here;
the rigid restrictions jabbed him like a spear.
Masking and vaccines and other gimcracks
were weighing him down like the gasoline tax.
Nobody could tell him what he ought to do.
He'd act as he wanted and eat barbecue.
So Tommy the trucker and some of his chums
got in their cabs and began beating drums.
They headed to Ottawa while honking and beeping;
which kept lots of people from napping and sleeping.
Snarling all traffic, this patriot Tommy
continued with actions that truly were balmy.
Stores had to close and a riot kept brewing
while Tommy the Trucker and friends kept on stewing.
They wanted strong drinks in their favorite pub
without any masks while they snarfed down the grub.
This Convoy of Freedom, this bandwagon giddy,
was finally stopped by police of the city.
Tommy the Trucker was soon shooed away.
His hero's work done, he went home without pay.
Home without pay, but his head still held high;
he'd proved to Trudeau he was Freedom's good guy.
A seat in the Parliament would be his, at worst;
he just had to learn how to read a book first.
The ham with cloves
from all the kitchen stoves
sits upon the table drear
waiting for the presbyter.
Dad takes out his dentures,
while speaking of debentures.
Mother disapproving,
the dishes all removing.
Sunday TV shows
with their trope-infested prose;
how I long for some ice cream
to sweeten up my young blood stream.
Canned laughter as I cry
when it's time for beddy-bye.
But I take the Sunday funnies
into bed with fairy bunnies.
So the Sabbath day I keep
while I'm hopping off to sleep.
Then the voice of Allen Funt
from downstairs says I'm a runt.
the perfect snowfall --
so quiet it doesn't sigh;
blank white on green slate.
the perfect snowfall --
asleep on a pile of wood;
old rivals at peace.
Ice and salt melting
together on the asphalt --
winter soup du jour.
