Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Thanks and Good Bye

Now seemed like a good time to leave
When friendship with you I could still conceive
As much as you can be fun
From you I must run
Being the butt of your joke
Comes with a costly yoke
I don’t dare wear
Asked you not to play this game
I liked you but you didn't see my shocked  stare
Or hurt feelings; didn't care

With my husband dead,
Life seemed over and then I had a little fun
Enjoyed some of the words you said
That’s when you opened fire
Dude, the state of my emotional health is dire

Better to leave when I can still say
Thanks for a place to crash

Saturday, April 12, 2014

City Park in the Dark

Tourists in white sneakers 
Take a seat
Park train toot-toots
Reggie the waiter on flute
Rocks a jazz beat

 Full moon glows
Spanish Moss floats in  Live Oak Trees
Latin rhythms sweeten the breeze
Lovers whisper
Some come  to sober up
Oye, como va 

Still Lagoons reflect soft light
Beignets  powdered with sugar just right
Café au lait best of all
Come to the Morning Call
City Park,a magical place in the dark
Mystery made nightly
New Orleans style


Friday, April 4, 2014

Down the Road

Remembering when it used to be
You talking to me in the car
Years traveled so far
Almost forever
Rolling along in my automobile
My life is no longer real
Only memories are

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Morning Calls

We enjoyed a café au lait at the Morning Call in City Park while watching a lady Muscovy Duck stroll between the tables with her head held high. Slowly she meandered by; would she be offered some bread, she didn’t seem concerned. In the doorway she stopped, waited for a musician to plug in his guitar before sashaying past.
Flap, flap, flap big orange male Muscovy feet beat a trail behind her. She ducked out of sight between the columns and potted palms.
The red on his Muscovy head gleamed brightly. He paused by each table. Am I not a spectacular specimen? Will you offer a morsel? His effort was not wasted; I tossed him a crumb. Without looking in my direction he shoveled the food in his mouth and moved on. En route a couple other patrons offered bits of beignets.
The guitar player absentmindedly strummed. In black pants, white jackets and paper hats, waiters produced bread for feathered guests. From out of nowhere the lady Muscovy emerged; her tail wagging furiously as the waiters laid a trail of bread crumbs to the lagoon in case the Muscovies had forgotten the way. Patrons smiled and nodded at each other. A good deed has been done.
Powdered sugar is poured again. The guitar thinks about a few more notes. Two little boys play rock, paper, scissors, as mama sips her coffee. A strand of Spanish Moss floats on the breeze. Waiters hustle to please. This is the life of ease.  What’s wrong with this picture?


Wednesday, April 2, 2014

What Are We Having?

Leftovers in the box
How old are the lox?
Maybe that succulent lamb
What do you want for breakfast, my Honey?
No, I don’t have Spam.
But I’ll give you half of my chocolate Easter bunny.
Or how about toast and jam?

Don’t you want something sweet?
Can’t I be your treat?
No, you’re gone and
I’m the leftover.