Why you gotta be so needy?
Promise me you don’t be greedy
and pass your boredom off as thirst
or little bumps as hurts far worse.
Cry to me and I’ll believe you,
change your diaper, hold and feed you,
aware my “need” to be your hero
could feed greed, and that’s my fear. Oh,
why this be so complicated?
And when will you be satiated?
You know, I can be selfish too,
and I have things I need to do
when this apparent growth spurt’s through.
Tomorrow’s Poem
I’d rather write tomorrow’s poem,
to make a guess at what’s unknown,
to predict it like the weather
and to say “It will be better.”
Even if that might be fun,
I live each day just as she comes.
Album-Titled Self
Oh, oh, my album-titled self.
I changed my name to get my product on the shelf.
Now I’m waiting, waiting to see if it sells.
Waiting all by my album-titled self.
Paint on the tape on the video.
There wasn’t much that he wouldn’t show.
And she was the voice that people would know.
At least he thought so.
In green paint now, because that’s the best.
It’ll all turn green until there’s nothing left
but a green smoke stack and we all are deaf
from the people shouting yes.
And then we’ll give up on our budget cuts
the minute we feel they’ve stuck us in a rut.
And we’ll rush out and buy a new truck
just to handle a buck.
I usually write to make more sense.
That’s not in right now, in my defense.
There’s a cost to keeping up with the trends.
It’s a business expense.
Life’s a business expense.
I can write myself off as a business expense.
Oh, oh, my album-titled self.
I changed my name to get my product on the shelf.
Now I’m waiting, waiting to see if it sells.
Waiting all by my album-titled self.
Foreclosure
I awoke to a loud cold knock at the door.
I had no idea what they were here for.
Hasty and stern, they wanted their money.
I said, “There’s no mortgage.” They said, “Don’t be funny.
Not your home– your brain. Pay for your education!”
I said, “I still am! I’m paying! Be patient!”
They said “It’s too late. This is a foreclosure,”
and they opened my brain, commencing the torture.
With scalpels and forceps they started to sort.
I begged them to leave what I’d learned in the dorms
but they took it all– all I’d learned in college.
They scraped out the street smarts and took the book knowledge.
I forgot where I’d traveled, I lost what I’d read,
plus all the connections I’d made in my head.
It was gone, just like that. Those four years of studies
and time spent debating with my college buddies.
Then they closed up my brain. I had nothing to say.
They said with a smile, “Now you don’t have to pay!”
Then I really awoke. Twas a dream. It was night.
Tried to go back to sleep, filled with freedom and fright.
Can’t this be my day of rest?
Can’t this be my day of rest?
I can see your way is best
if I just want to live ’til death
but I want more from life.
Can’t I even stop and think?
Can’t you see I’m on the brink
but if I never rest I’ll sink?
I am a mother and a wife.
Untitled Poem
This poem has no title.
Like a horse without bridle
it wanders where it wills.
It says what it wants to.
So empty, it haunts you;
so free, its creativity killed.
If Saving is Earning
If it’s true
as I have learned
“a penny saved
is a penny earned”
then I guess
I earn a lot.
It’s not what I do
but what I do not:
I do not buy
designer cribs,
Swarovski crystal-
covered bibs,
formula,
Coach diaper bags,
or designer
spit-up rags.
I do not go
to shopping malls
or salons
or fancy balls.
I don’t pick up
those magazines
or watch the ads
on big flat screens.
I do not use
six different sprays
to make my hair
look good all day.
I do not fly
in private jets
or take vacations.
At least not yet.
I do not drive
a brand new car,
or a golf cart,
chasing par.
I do not drive
a monster truck.
I do not pay
for tummy tucks.
I do not keep
an equine stable.
I don’t hang out
on operating tables.
I do not need
a phone that’s smart
or million-dollar
works of art.
I do not need
a leather chair,
a business wardrobe,
or childcare.
Being thrifty’s not
a prestigious career.
But if saving is earning,
there’s potential here.