A newly-divorced woman on a dating site,
Decided to write her bio
With unaccustomed honesty and modesty,
Exposing her habits, good and bad, 
Her cutesy flaws,
Her foibles and vanities,
As she never had before,
And was certain her confessional
Wouldn't turn away would-be beaux.
It's a subtle seduction,
She thought,  
Being disarmingly honest.
And while it did have the desired effect,
It rendered her so unrecognizable,
That her first reply came
From her former spouse.  

Food Hot, Plate Not…Not So Sure

Magnus Scarfinger,
Trying to get a reduced sentence
At his parole board hearing,
Volunteered to touch
A plate from a just-invented
Microwave oven
To see if was as cool to the touch,
As physicists said it would be...
Even though the cheese on it
Had melted.
That put him two years closer to freedom,
So he volunteered to drive a car
Fifty miles an hour into a wall
To test air bags,
Hoping that would make him a free man.
But the board thought a car
Would be too much temptation.
So he volunteered to be a vaccine tester
And a food taster.
He's recovering now from mushrooms,
He was told were safe.

Thoughts Between Four and Five This Morning

New friends,
Talking from verbal scratch,
Lurch from subject to subject
With pauses between each,
Since they lack
The conversational connective tissue
Of common experience,
Which will build up over time.
Each if them will have to fight
To get a word in, edgewise.

As I Lay Sleeping

In bed, 
Seeking more comfort,
She launched a surprise attack 
Along my reclining nighttime defense line,
Probing for weakness...
My weary rump forces too weak to repel her.
And, never abiding by the laws imposed
To protect anatomical tenderness,
She struck with all she had,
Forcing me to the cliffs of Serta,
To the edges of bedding.
And, I, in the fog of war, moaned,
    "What are you doing?",
Hoping to appeal to her better angels
And stem the assault.
But mercy to her was foreign coin...
And with a final push
I landed on the floor,
Buffered by only a Bokhara,
A pair of wool socks
And my slippers.

Phone Encounter

    I'm going to put you on hold,
Said the Internet voice,
    For a minute or two...or maybe more.
    I'll wait, 
I said.
She said,
    Be back in a sec.

Suburbia These Days

A buck 
With a twelve-prong rack,
Stood stock-still
Before a five-foot fence
And, effortless, sprang over it
Into a neighbor's backyard.
I didn't see him again,
So assumed he got out,
Since the neighbors didn't have
A winter of venison.

I, the Grim Weeper, Dealt with Verizon

Verizon owns time...
Their time, your time, my time.
They must, because they waste it 
With the impunity of ownership,
Cavalierly keeping me on hold forever...
While they endlessly search
For the right department, 
The right agent
To help me with billing.
And they let me languish
With no interim message
To show they're still there,
Nor music to soothe me.
And I wearily wait,  
As my newest guide, Zia,
Does what no other was able to do,
Magically, lead me 
To where I, long ago, wanted to be...
The billing department...
Wonderful Zia, 
Maybe, I'll marry her.

Being on the Team Means Not Making Waves

Ferguson kept his ideas
Under his hat
To be part of The Team, 
Though his ideas outshined
Those management had.
Which is what it means to be on The Team...
A retail team, a factory team,
An office team, a warehouse team...
He gave himself up for the good of The Team,
And repeated what management oft-times said,
    There's no "I" in team.
But Ferguson, 
Finally at the end of his rope,
Raised his hand and said,
    But there is an "I" in ideas.
Ten minutes later,
Walked to the door by security,
He blinked in the sun,
No longer a member of The Team.

I Caught A Bug

In my youth,
When I felt sick...
The cause was A Bug...
I caught A Bug.
No matter what, 
I came down with A Bug.
Now we know it's not as simple 
As just A Bug,
But some other wee carrier of woe...
Bacterial, viral, fungal, 
Or something so micro 
As an altered gene in your DNA,
That needs a bit of editing...
Which sounds as simple as punctuation,
But surely isn't. 
    And my old catchphrases being hard to change,
    I'll still say with a knowing shrug...
    When I'm under the weather...
    I caught A Bug

To Solve a Problem, Dehumanize It

Food Insecurity
Is the new guilt-free name for Hunger...
One that flies in on the wings of corporate can-do.
Catchy name...Food Insecurity...
Doesn't sound like a human problem anymore,
But a business school project
Easily solved
By algorithms, logistics, statistics
And a bit of code to make it work.
The corporate types ask,
    Didn't you say something sooner,
    Before Hunger became a problem?
    All it needed was renaming
    To make it a business school assignment.
So it's no longer the good folks
With moral outrage who ladle soup
To help solve a problem
That's existed from Moses 'til now.
    Well, that was easy,
Say the MBAs.
    Now we've also heard 
    You've got a problem with malaria...
    Perhaps, we can help.