On the way to work, I walk through the park next to the courthouse.
Down the steps, into a maintenance area under a bridge where a small cat colony lives.
There’s a calico, a tortie, an orange and white.
And two black cats.
I call them the wild baby panthers.
I carry cat treats in my work bag, and I leave a pile or two when I walk by on the way to work.
And the way home.
I know they’ll never trust me, or rub against my leg, purring or meowing.
That’s fine by me. To give is enough.
Tag: society
For Ants
When people say to spray for ants
I’d rather that they pray for ants
I think ants are really neat
So I kneel down and bless their feet
I tell the ants to bow their heads
And then my mom gives me my meds
They make the voices go away
Which tell me when I ought to pray
I sleep and dream of Lord Apshai
Who rules all ants from upon high
He then demands a sacrifice
I look around for something nice
And that’s why I burned all my pants
Burnt offerings to the god of the ants.
Amen.
Atlas
A pair of philosophers in shabby togas sat across from each other in the marketplace.
One claimed that Atlas the Titan held up the weight of the sky to keep it from crushing the world.
The other claimed that Atlas held on to the sky to keep it from floating away into oblivion.
“That’s just… weird,” said the first philosopher. “Everybody knows that Atlas holds up the sky.”
“Have you seen him?” said the second philosopher. “Have you seen him yourself?”
“Have you?” the first philosopher snapped back.
They lapsed back into silence, looked up, and watched clouds float overhead.
Trail
We lift our backpacks, feel the weight shift on our backs, and head out on the trail.
But instead of birdsong, we are greeted with stump-speeches.
Instead of slapping away mosquito, we slap away pollsters.
And where we once pushed back branches, we dodge the fliers thrust out at us by candidates.
Lobbyists rush past us, handing out wads of cash.
I check my GPS and realize we’ve wandered off the hiking trail and on to a campaign trail.
It begins to rain, so we run for shelter.
Lobbyists assume we’re running for office, and chase us with the money.
Honorary
I’m not very smart.
Sure, I’ve got me a college degree. It’s up there on the wall somewhere.
But there’s no way I’ll ever get a masters. Or a doctorate.
Now, my brother, he’s smart. Got all of those and more. When he’s not inventing things that make everybody’s life better and easier, he’s collecting honorary doctorates by the truckload.
That’s when I decided to collect honorary Academic Probations and Expulsions.
I just got back from England here Oxford and Cambridge condemned me, and this week is a run through the East Coast for Princeton and Yale.
Call me, Harvard.
All the world’s a stage…
All the world’s a stage
But unlike those women and men
Who are merely players
With their exits and entrances
We are the guys who run the box office
Selling tickets to people
Who have nothing better to do
Than watch the same old shit
Happen over and over and over
Sure, some do it better than others
The ushers come in and tell us
“Hey, this one dude, he’s good!”
We take turns, close a window
Watch for a while, get bored
And come back to the box office
Reopen the window, and ask
“How many for the show?”
Property Values
The housing market’s in trouble, and everybody’s worried about property values going down.
Somehow, that building you live in stopped being a home and became an investment.
A bad investment.
So, you come up with a plan.
Drag the treadmill to the front porch, find the tightest traffic-stopping spandex you can fit into, and see what happens.
A week goes by.
Two weeks.
Three weeks.
You check the online property values map site your friend told you about.
The numbers have gone up.
“I’ve still got it,” you tell yourself, heading for the shower.
(And leave the window curtain open.)
Lord Foster’s Estate
Lord Foster’s estate is gigantic.
It is so large, by the time the man who mows the grass is done, the grass has grown back.
The groundskeeper asked for an additional man.
Lord Foster said no. The staff was large enough as it is.
The groundskeeper asked for a faster lawnmower.
Lord Foster said no. That lawnmower was fine for the job.
The groundskeeper asked if the lawmower could run at night.
Lord Foster said no. The noise was annoying.
So, the groundskeeper asked Lord Foster to come outside.
He tied him up.
And ran him over with the lawnmower.
The Gallery
Art thieves hit the gallery last night, stealing every painting out of their frames.
The owner of the gallery called the police, and then called the insurance company.
No answer.
The cops looked at the insurance policy.
“Oh, it’s from that company,” they said. “We busted them last month. It’s worthless.”
The gallery owner panicked and looked around…
The frames! The frames are still there!
He called his engraver and worked up new signage that showcased the ornate frames the thieves left behind.
Their avant-garde show “Focus On The Frame” was a success.
Until the dastardly frame thieves showed up.
Generous With Words
The fool is most generous with his words, a flood of nonsense and spittle spills from his lips.
I pull out a handkerchief, wipe my face, and try to maintain my smile.
Thankfully, he does not test my comprehension of his prattle, but merely asks if I understand.
“Yes,” I say. “Do go on.”
Sadly, he does, and I am subjected to more nonsense, more unwelcome moisture, and occasional stray bits of gristle.
“Try fainting,” whispers Duchess Morgan in my ear.
I roll my eyes and go limp.
Servants “revive” me as the fool moves on to his next victim.