Last Will

Her last will and testament 

Was an unfinished grocery list.

Or was it finished?

Was it very simply that

The only thing she really needed in life

Was a can of lard?

How hard it is to discover 

The intent of a woman!

Who can declare it?

She also left one cent behind on the counter,

A tip for the universe

For the gift her life had been.

Now what is the proper tip rate again?

20 percent?

Well I guess that penny is a statement, too.

That, in combination with the one big fat ingredient 

On the woman’s grocery list,

Together exist to form her last will....

And testament.

-jenn

 Dry Like Wine

Sometimes I think I must be dry,

For every time I pass the produce aisle,

The aridity-sensors set the sprinklers off

To wet the lettuce and the rhubarb,

And each and every time I try

To tell a joke, no one laughs,

But only cries are heard.

But tell me, if I were a wine,

Would you buy me?

Would you try me if I were

A taste more difficult to acquire,

Something even dryer, say,

Like Brut Champagne?

Would I tickle your delicate sensibilities then?

-jenn

 The Right Way

I could not work here, at the burger cafe,

Because if someone came in and told me they wanted a burger 

With ketchup and mayonnaise,

I might scream, “OH BARF! How disgusting!”

And some manager somewhere would bust my chops

About how the customers are always right

But what about the customers who never come in?

Because they’re vegan?

Are they right, too?

-jenn 

 Non-sequitur

I ran over a ghost.

She was eating toast, not watching where she was going.

She jaywalked out into the road,

And I was carrying a load of turnips on my turnip truck.

Yes, my music was loud as hell,

And, well, yes. I was texting.

So who is truly more at fault here?

And more importantly,

If someone runs over a ghost and kills him,

Does it send the ghost back into the land of the living somehow?

So I’m thinking, if anything,

We should both be praised.

The ghost for having the audacity to eat plain toast in the light of day,

And me, for failing to give the right of way

To a non-entity.

What a lovely day it’s been so far!

I can’t wait to see what may happen tonight!

-jenn

 ModernWoes

I push a button

And water flows.

The washer starts to wash my clothes.

The agitator, a thing of the past,

Settings for warm,

Or a cold blast 

To keep one’s colors true.

I push a button on my microwave.

Like magic, the water in my cup boils.

I take it out to look at it.

I don’t trust these instant bubbles.

Should I put this tea bag in?

Will I really want to drink the substance 

Created by this high-tech way?

I don’t... 

So even worse,

I’ll take a Coke out of the fridge

And add some freeze dried coffee crystals

And a spoon of powdered goat milk.

The modern man,

The modern woman,

Obsessed with an obsolete idea

That comfort is possible.

All I want to do is dance,

But instead of stomping out the ancient rhythms in my head,

I’ll restart my iPad

And put on Steely Dan,

Silently hear the deacon blues,

And drink my Big Black Cow

And get outta here.

And maybe, while I’m out and about,

I’ll come see you.

-jenn

 White Sky

Sometimes when the sky is white,

I write the words that come to mind

Upon its page.

So blank and free,

It calls to me,

To do and to say

Whatever may tickle my fancy.

And sometimes, very suddenly, 

The blue returns

To spurn me,

To tell me that reality has no such space available to create it,

And how could I even think such a thing!

Much less take up a pen and ink

And pollute the sky

With wild imaginations!

But nevermind!

The nebulous chiding that seems

To rain so chilly from the clouds

Down onto your parade

Is all a part of the charade.

It’s a part of your imagination, too,

And your dreams.

So just keep writing!

Keep writing it all down,

No matter what,

On whatever kind of paper you can find!

A handy scrap, a napkin, a receipt, even the bottom of your shoe,

Any old tabula rasa in a storm will do,

Especially a white sky,

And especially when you’re dreaming.

-jenn

 The Urban Gulls

But why does seeing the seagulls fly,

Swirling up into the sky

Around this otherwise forlorn parking lot in town

Make me smile,

Make me feel so happy?

The morning sky is blue with streaks

Of puffy white, and yellow light is beaming,

And seagulls with their orange beaks

Are swirling , cawing endlessly.

My eyes were stinging yesterday with tears.

My fears were churning,

And today all I could see

Was dull gray traffic streaming quickly by,

Leaving me so here, behind.

And then I got a chance to turn and took it,

And look, my heart, the lovely gulls!

So far away from home it seems,

So distant from the lake or sea,

But here they fly! They circle me,

And happy thoughts take flight upon their wings.

Is anywhere home?

Is anywhere really all alone?

In this world where suns rise up,

And colors change against the blue,

And I have you,

Is anywhere really far away from day

Or night or love?

When I see the gulls swirl up above it all,

I remember, when I fall,

I can also fly.

-jenn