Friday, August 31, 2012

August: Last Day But One

The Fiery Skippers played with bees
Amid the mint in our back yard.
The sun was hot, there was a breeze
And Brigitte cooked us some Swiss chard—
Those huge green leaves, red narrow veins.

As off I went to grab my keys,
I heard the name John Maynard Keynes
And then a bit about Chinese
Atrocities against free trade.
Was haircut bound, two miles away,
You know, the scissors and the blade,
Returning I bought stovetop spray
From a one-line shopping slip
And made a lib’ry visit too
To optimize the outbound trip.
That might save gas; good thing to do.

But then, as later it turned out,
When Grosse Pointe Schools let their phone ring
And therefore put us in some doubt
When aerobic swimming would begin
Come Fall, indeed next week,
The keys had to be grabbed again
To storm the school and there to speak
Directly to the guardian—
Who sat, massive, behind a screen
Behind him a black telephone
Shiny, untouched, indeed pristine,
But one he did not deign to own.
Long story short, all was still well.
I paid a hundred, signed her up.

Then back to our Grosse Pointe hotel
To tell my mate, to sip a cup,
Well-iced—before a hot walk came,
And later dinner on spaghetti.
Next to Pier Park where my own dame
Attended her last Summer swimmy.
Then came evening and its doings,
The swim-shoes in the sink to soak.
Check the e-mail, to-ing, fro-ing.
The Tigers lost, Mitt Romney spoke.


  1. Thanks. This is how a day should be summed up: seriously funny as life itself most often is, and in rhyme.

  2. Oh, that is lovely. Yes, this poem captures a day just beautifully!

  3. Oh, that is lovely. Yes, your poem captures a day just beautifully!

  4. Oh, that final line. Two atrocities in just eight syllables!


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