Crying Over Spilt Milk?

People don't cry over the milk that got spilt.
They cry for the effort fruitlessly wasted—
For songs forever unsung,
For lack of foresight,
For butter un-tasted,
And mind numbing tasks
Impatiently waiting to be redone.

-jenn long

What Do You Want To Be?

“What would you want to be?”

He asked me, drifting off to sleep.

“I would be a flying horse, like Pegasus,” I replied.

“I would be a little bird,” he said as his eyes were closing,

“That can go into tiny places and find things

And take my treasure home.

I would be red with a bright yellow belly

And find gold and other hidden treasures.

Then my master could sell them

And buy my food that I would eat.”

-jenn long

Specula-ation

I know it is September.

The fatalistic urge to call my doctor

Pleads with me to do it.

Triage is needed so—

The tears are too great to heal.

The crimson tide of autumn’s crowning glory, Americana,

The mourning black of losing seasons all,

And the moldy smell of stale old books

Beckon me to some unknown University,

While procreantic currents dare me

To marry the only one I’ve ever loved.

I fight the urge.

I can’t call her again this year.

She’ll laugh and call me silly.

But I know that I will wind up there

By September 23^rd.

I’ll be reading her out-of-date magazines,

Adrift in the sterile waiting room,

Awaiting the stirrups, the specula,

And the latexed, cold, right hand.

The pap smear will come back normal,

But maybe my head’s what needs attention,

Then again, maybe I need more regular pelvic exams.

What’s done is done,

And I know that,

And try not to live in the past with regrets,

For I am the type that would second guess,

No matter what choice I made.

So maybe “September” is Latin for

“I feel that I am dying,”

Just like “Ficus” is Latin for “a tree that dies in the house.”

A month of monument for world without end!

Yes, I know it is September.

So, here’s to those roads taken, and those less traveled by.

-jenn long

Pardon Me While I Enjoy My Life (1)

So I say this not to brag—

For clearly I have naught to brag about,

Except the fact that I have life today.

But I say this to show

That even an ordinary woman

Can have an extraordinary day.

If there are just two things

I am known for,

One is, I am everlasting comic relief

To the gods, and the great cloud of witness

Which shrouds the universe.

For even when I do not try at all

Humor exudes from me,

And I applaud it.

Jester is my name.

The only other thing that constant is

About me is my eternal bad hair.

The bad hair day for me has lasted near

To five decades now, with no signs of letting up.

And hence the drama of my story—

For I went to get my hair cut,

And a wonder working Anne Sullivan type

Got a hold of my Helen Keller hair.

She somehow cut it and made it look longer

At the very same time.

She asked me who had highlighted it for me.

And I told her I had not put any color on it for more than 6 years,

So I guess the wind and the rain had done it.

She said it was perfectly umbrayed… what ever that is

And that the Kardashians paid over 200 bucks to get their hair that way.

And then she fixed it for me—

Dolled it up.

And I told her.

“Don’t make me look too dang good.

No one will recognize me.”

And sure enough,

I went to the grocery store

And the manager, himself, offered to carry out my three little sacks,

And asked me if I was new in town.

He’d never seen me before.

I knew no one would recognize me…

So… we will see

I can probably never get my hair to look that way again,

But it made me feel like a million bucks,

And everyone deserves a day like that every now and then,

And when we do, we ought to relish them,

And say, “Pardon me, while I enjoy my life.”

Joke This Year, Truth the Next

He opened his presents a day early,

But didn’t want me to tell them—

Not the company coming for supper,

“No—especially don’t tell them.”

He said he was going to tell them

He’d opened them this morning.

I said, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

It’s really rather cute!”

Let’s just tell them the truth.” I said.

He said, “I will tell them a joke this year,

And next year,

 I will tell them the truth.”

-jenn long

Heartworms

We always thought he was a hound—

Sniffing about,

Hunching our legs,

The incessant howling at the moon,

And leg hiking on the fern.

But he told us today,

As he licked his bowl

In the break room,

He’s been diagnosed with

Heartworms.

So, now we know.

-jenn long

Poetic Notion

I had a poetic notion,
And tossed it by a friend of mine.
He took the ball and ran with it,
But, he ran it into the ground.
And by the time he was finished
Muddying my clear waters,
He had de-romanticized my vision so,
That I kicked myself (in the head)
For ever having the idea at all.

-jenn long