Buds to Bods/Kegs to Good Legs

All the town drunks have buff bodies,

They ride bikes to the bars twice a day,

Then walk to the bus stops every night

Since the state took their license away.

They dead lift all of their good friends

Passed out, face down on the floor…

Then high jump to get on the bar stools

In their quest for “Just one glass more”.

Their pushup routines begin each night,

Upon falling to the curb from the bus.

Their success, the result of taxpayers;

The fat, sober people like us.

Yes someone already commented on "Sober people like us"?
My Reply was, "Yeah, sometimes"!

Tumbling Towards Terminal

Diving in irrigation ditches,

Our sport’s vehicle?  Gravity…

Falling in rivers, warm pools and lakes,

Graceful cliff dives into the sea…

We seem to enjoy the pull of nature

Drawing us ever closer to earth…

Until we discover when older,

We’ve tumbled farther away since birth.

Nat and Laverne

It wasn’t just any Miami vacation,
It took a whole lifetime to earn…
Thirty-five years of Fuller Brush Sales,
And it’s off for Nat and Laverne.

A wardrobe of furs, plaid pants and sunglasses
All crammed in the Crown Victoria.
Last farewells to the snowstorms, grandkids and the house,
And all the Gentiles in Peoria.

Down memory lane they took Route 66,
Unaware that the world had changed.
The towns were all by-passed, the stores were all closed,
With millions of lives rearranged.

Dazed and bewildered, they searched for a motel
The kind with a vibrating bed.
Only to find a boarded-up house,
Near a sign that said "Dead end ahead".

Nat and Laverne were lost in America,
No one would see her furs now!
Just them and the Crown Victoria
With the exception of one lonely cow.

Laverne pinched her cheeks and smeared on some rouge,
You still must look good when lost.
She thought to herself they should have flown,
But hooey vey, such a cost.

They threw all the furs, make-up and sunglasses
Into a fast reverse.
Silent till now, Laverne started whining,
"Too much sitting makes cellulite worse"!

Nat thought about the last thirty-five years… Of constantly trying to please her,
Now lost in a country he no longer knew,
And certain he could not appease her.

He looked at the ghost town and thought of his life,
Oh, how he hated that job!
Thrown out and useless like Route 66
And Laverne wouldn’t like him to sob.

Back on the highway, Nat gathered up speed.
The speedometer said sixty-five.
He slowly reached down and pulled open the door,
The last time Laverne saw him alive.

She pinched on her cheeks and smeared on some rouge,
As the car neared an unkempt park.
"Jesus Christ, what gave him the right?"
As her lipstick rubbed off on tree bark.
 

Joy

Joy should be a moral and legislated right for all species. It requires freedom from tyranny, oppression, territory theft and hunting.

A Note to My Dog

Don’t ask! I was unusual,

As you know, my animal friend…

Smokes, a bottle, humor and wit;

Immortal days without end!

I’ve outgrown my leather sandals,

My Leghorn friend under the clover…

Six decades after this photograph

My Smoking days are over.

Yesterday I spit out a tooth;

A life reduction I did not like…

It signaled the beginning of Phase ll:

The Deconstruction of Mike.

Otis, our days are numbered,
We owe each other the truth...
I've noticed your mind is missing;
Otis, don't stare at my missing tooth. 

Fallen Ladies

How can a person fall in love,

With someone who’s already wed,

The same age as your parent,

Already old and famous and dead?

Why are there no time machines,

Enabling a young man’s dreams?

Born too late, I missed an era.

A future as bleak as the past, it seems.