Two plastic cases
One is for morning
One is for later each night
Seven in each for each day of the week, that’s
Fourteen compartments, alright?
Six pills upon rising
Three pills before bed
Nine chances to aid what is ailing
One woman who wonders
One day at a time if the system’s succeeding or failing
One is a multi, a vitamin pill, an obvious choice so I make it
Two combat calcium’s flight from my bones: old, white, and female can’t shake it
Two are because my stomach has strayed into my gullet, don’t ask
Two are for sadness, although I suspect they’re really not up to the task
One is B-12, it builds up the blood, the cells, and the old DNA
One is the latest, supposed to prevent my marbles from rolling away
Sixty-three pills I take every day,
I hate every one, I’ll admit it,
But it brightens the notion that someday I’ll die,
Because then I can finally quit it.
It’s easy to eat breakfast
Put food into your mouth
It’s flapjacks in the north woods
and cornbread in the south
It’s kippers in the UK
Croissants in gay “Paree”
It’s Pop-Tarts almost anywhere
Wheatgrass in the OC
Wherever we awaken
Our noses sniff for bacon
And coffee perk, perk, perking, in the pot
For some, it’s poi or soy, plantain
Oatmeal with the works or plain
Sugar, lemon, honey, milk
Cocoa, tea, or soy-based Silk
It doesn’t matter who we are, the language that we speak
As soon as we awaken, it’s food our bodies seek
If we’ve been true and we’ve been good
If we’ve done all we could or should
Or if our lives are very sad
And so, we spend to not feel bad
None can refuse the urge to feed
It is a basic human need
So please excuse, those who refuse
To carry shame, accept the blame
For wanting food, they didn’t earn
It’s not a choice (which soon you’d learn)
If ever you should you find yourself
With nothing on the kitchen shelf
Intelligence with eloquence
Has dropped her knickers here
Everyone is wearing sadomasochist
this year
Be a buddy, be a pal
Take a punk to tea
Smile in the mirror mornings
“Jim Jones can’t catch me!”
We don’t care if we are free
Me just cares about me, me, me
Buy it, charge it, carry it out
We’ve got the card that carries clout
As long as daddy pays the bills
So, I can get my little thrills
Drink my Harvey
Bang the wall
Care I if I’m nowhere at all?
I don’t have a lawn
For they always need mowing
I don’t have a garden
They always need hoeing
My iron is idle
My vacuum is mute
I don’t wash the car
And I don’t give a hoot
I’ve only one kid
I can barely keep fed
I nap all the time now
So why make the bed?
The cooking I’ll live with
It comes with the eating
The dishes I’ll do without taking a beating
Why then, oh why, am I still inundated
With work that keeps piling up unabated?
It’s laundry that stalks me
Both daytime and night
With a pile of t-shirts, towels, colored and white
Underwear, sweatpants,
Flannels and jeans,
Folded and stacked on the dryer it leans,
It grows ever higher until the vibration
Impacts the stack and provokes inundation
Of clothing and hassle
For now, I’m not sure
Which ones are vile, which clean-scented pure
Clothing that’s strewn on the not-so-clean floor
Lather, rinse, repeat
My sainted Irish Grammy
Was everything to me
Her love was like a beacon
On the shore of a stormy sea
Her hands were cold
But her heart was warm
She loved her Savior well
But hurt one of her dear ones?
She’d send you straight to Hell
She never missed a Bingo game
Down at the old church hall
A glass or two of port at night
She loved to sing and she loved to fight
And everything would turn out right
If Grammy returned to us all
My sainted Irish Grammy
Was everything to me
Her love was like a beacon
On the shore of a stormy sea
I get my thrills
From daffodils
Tulips leave me reeling
A bleeding heart
Tears me apart
An old familiar feeling
Violets make me teary
Cherry blossoms cheery
Lilacs leave me breathless
The waiting makes me restless
Color, fragrance, beauty
I feel it is my duty
To plant and care for every one
Remember, when my life is done
I spent my days among the blooms
And not in dark and smoky rooms
Where nothing grows but vague despair
I fed, I fretted, I took care
And so I hope when I am gone
A bit of me will still live on
Look in my garden, there you’ll find
The “living will” I leave behind
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