The times cry for diversion. I find mine in humor. This page is reserved for poems that might provide a giggle, even a sardonic chortle in some cases. So far I've found three to post:
The Unbearable Heaviness of Being
At A Women's Club Board Meeting
Into Lay's
(With a nod to Milan Kundera for this title)
THE UNBEARABLE HEAVINESS OF BEING
I showered off dirt and sweat,
applied no lotions or creams, filed my fingernails short, removed their polish, thought of shaving my head but decided cutting an inch was as far as I could go before donning my flimsiest outfit, slip-off sandals, and heavy winter coat. Ignoring the cold,
I wore no stockings or socks. I'd skipped breakfast and my usual coffee stop and hoped I wouldn't faint before my appointment at two o'clock. Once on the dreaded
device, I exhaled, but that too failed. Despite all preparations, the doctor's scale once again weighed heavy. AT A WOMEN’S CLUB BOARD MEETING
“But I just sent her a get-well card,” exclaimed the corresponding secretary upon hearing that one of our members had died two days earlier, unexpectedly.
“These things happen,” responded the president. “I had a friend who kept complaining to her husband that she wasn’t feeling well. He told her to get over it.”
“Next thing we knew, she had died.” “Oh, my,” came the chorus around the table, and then, to my right I heard a member whisper, “She sure showed him.”
INTO LAY'S
Classic Lay's potato chips curl and fold themselves while frying, getting ready for my hips. Tongue applauds. They're satisfying.
Lip and tooth-crushed interaction, crispy, salty, golden fat zing me into stupefaction. Losing all resolve, I snack
from the package 'til I clip it, place it far from where I sit, but get up, and dip into it. When they’re gone is when I'll quit. |