Category: Writings

Food Fear 2

lindastudley1 Comment

The slippery slope, diet-arily,
is greased with butter apparently
so now we’ve switched to tubs of some kind of margarine
something that isn’t really butter at all
it’s got no trans-fats or cholesterol
but it comes in a round plastic tub, to my chagrin.

‘cause in every fridge with their racks and drawers
there’s a wee compartment with a flippy door
where you keep your block of butter all cool and sweet
but the tub won’t fit where the butter once dwelt
and if you leave it on the counter it kinda melts
into separate unappetizing puddles of muck and grease.

So I keep it in the fridge, with the low fat cheese
and the fruits and veggies and all that wheeze
that’ll make me live longer and enjoy life more
but as full as my refrigerator every gets
There’s just one space where nothing sets
‘cause nothing but butter fits behind a flippy-door.

 

#247

Food Fear

lindastudley1 Comment

A soft boiled egg perched in a cup
with a jaunty, hand knit cap on top
and buttered toast cut into strips
to dunk so you didn’t miss a bit

of the bright yellow yolk
so smooth and delicious
who knew that eggs
could be so malicious

as to hide the fiend cholesterol
that would lead to a dietary fall
from grace. All I can say is “Crap,
now what’ll I do with the jaunty cap?”

#246

Turning Points

lindastudley2 Comments

My head feels like it’s spinning
but it’s really just a procession of
turning points, back to back, spiralling
just out of reach.
Opportunity knocking at my brain
then running away.
So many opportunities that
by the time I’ve mourned the fact
that I can’t take advantage of them all,
yet another set has slipped away.
I could grab one and stuff it in my pocket
but it would probably fade,
like a bus transfer that you roll and fold
until it resembles flannelette.
No, I think I’d better catch it with my teeth,
like a jungle cat, and drag it away,
up into a tree and devour it.
Yes, opportunities should be devoured.
Turning points should be stalked, pounced upon,
and devoured.

 

#244

Me and Bugs

lindastudleyLeave a comment

I’m a merry-go-round girl
in roller coaster world
and I wonder as I swirl
through a wrong turn in mid air.

I’m a Sunday Driver waking
at a Nascar starting gate and
I’m pretty sure I’ve taken
another wrong turn somewhere.

I’m a bunny hill kinda gal at the top of Everest
I’m dog paddling in the middle of the sea
I don’t know what went wrong but I’m gonna make a guess
I took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.
Me and Bugs
We took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.

 

#243

Doubt

lindastudley2 Comments

Foolishness accepts
only the facts that support
its myopic lens.

Realists believe
their version of what is real
is the only truth.

Dreamers just ignore
anything that doesn’t fit
their beautiful dream.

Wise ones know that they
will never have all the facts.
Wisdom always doubts.

 

#242

The Ticket

lindastudley2 Comments

I think I lost my ticket.
Or perhaps I bent, spindled,
mutilated or folded it illegible.

It happens that way sometimes
when you hold it in your hand too long,
twiddling it, fiddling with it,
absent mindedly clenching and
unclenching your hands around it
as though the destination could
be absorbed through the skin,
a sweat stained dermal transference.
So perhaps it was just a transfer I lost,
not the ticket.

Wait, here is the ticket in my pocket.
I take it out but cannot bring myself to read
the destination.

 

#240

To My Math Teacher

lindastudley3 Comments

I knew it wouldn’t have mattered
how many apples I had
you wouldn’t want any.
You didn’t like apples.
No one ever brought you apples.

And how could I have known
how long it would take to reach that other town?
I couldn’t drive back then,
I could barely ride my bike.
I’ve never paid attention to how long it takes
to drive anywhere, even now.

But if, one day, while driving to town
at sixty miles an hour, I should meet you
coming from the other direction
driving at forty five miles an hour,
I’ll wave.

#238