What’s In A Name

Mother:
Oh hon look at our little lamb
Pictured in the sonogram
She looks so small so sweet and dear
I just can’t wait til she is here
We have her crib, some clothes her wipes her
Toys, layette sets and her diapers
One thing though it’s very plain
Our little one just needs a name

Father:
I just can’t guess a name other
Than that one of my nice old mother
Don’t you think that would be special?
Problem solved, we’ll call her Ethel!

Mother:
How could you be so unwitting
Please tell me that you are kidding
Surely even you can see
That woman always hated me
Hideous backwards compliments
She always doubts my competence
I’ll name my daughter for that ogre
Only once hell freezes over

But I think I have our answer
Candie Nikki Trixie Amber

Father:
Oh my God what is your goal?
To drive her up a stripper pole?

Let’s make sure from the very start
That she’s a warrior at heart
Something strong and something mighty
Calliope or Aphrodite

Mother:
Are you joking? Oh pu-leeze!
Imagine how she would get teased
Another thing there is no telling
How often there would be misspellings

But name her with integrity
With some flare and celebrity
Don’t you think it would be dope
To name her Pear or Cantaloupe

Father:
Oh my god, that’s just bizarre
What say we name her for a car
Saturn, Subaru or Mazda
Ferrari, Pontiac or Honda

Mother:
Or maybe even better yet
Consult the medicine cabinet
Benadryl, Amoxicillin
Xanax, Prozac, Penicillin

Father:
All this fighting’s got me nauseous
Right here in the doctor’s office
Let’s just close our eyes and spin
Our fingers point to random things
Which ever one we get to first
Will be our daughter’s name at birth

Child:
And now so plainly you see that
I have this story cold down pat
And even to the point it rhymes
Since I’ve told it a thousand times
When I’m asked nearly every day
Just how I got the name X-Ray.

For the inspiration for this blog I must give full credit to Phil Taylor and his blog Ten Situations That Should Be Solved By A Rap Battle. Thank you Phil.

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The Unwanted Guests

I know you think you’ve finally found
A place that’s safe from harm
And laid eggs for your babies where
They will be well and warm

And so you frolic all around
You think that life is grand
Blithely you sustain yourself
Off the fat of the land

But this nonchalant lifestyle has
Caused me much affliction
So with no notice I call for
Immediate eviction

I’m all for footloose fancy free
Existence without care
But next time maybe set up camp
In someone else’s hair.

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I Know What You Did

Each day the telephone does ring
Right at 9 AM
No greeting is required here
For my long time friend

His heavy breathing lasts a bit
And I can not get rid
Of his haunting voice that cautions
“I know what you did”

And though I question why and who
And tell him he is sick
The phone call ends abruptly with
A sole menacing click

Of course I’ve been to the police
Pleading, begging, asking
For them to end these awful calls
Which I find so harrassing

For I’m just an old widow see
I’m not exactly spry
I bake, I knit, I volunteer
I would not hurt a fly

And I tell you that all this stress
Just ain’t good for my heart
But this man that’s been calling me
Is really very smart

And despite all the doohickeys
Tracing when he rings
All those buggy devices
Just don’t detect a thing

An officer is by right now
To find the missing link
He begins to take his notes
I offer him a drink

He says a cool crisp lemonade
Surely would be nice
I pour him out a big tall cup
And go look for the ice

I find it in the freezer there
Right by the garlic bread
Above the frozen dinners and
Behind my husband’s head

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Buggy Bart

Oh, what child could not assert
Their love of playing in the dirt
Or digging sticks into the ground
For creepy crawlies that abound

And through the murky soil slick
They lift them with fingers or stick
Til goosebumped shivers make them weak
They throw them downward with a shriek

But there’s one boy who sits alone
Frantic searching under stones
Deep in tunnels beneath stems
For thorax, legs and abdomens

The beauty which he loves the best
Would outweigh long hair, leg and breast
Although he loved the fairer sex
None reached the heights of the insects

Who’s ultimate perfection found
And never ever let him down
And for those who would dare to try
Would watch him stare at compact eyes

With patience wearing somewhat thin
Behind a glass terrarium
Though our unlikely hero knew
He found a love so pure and true

So heartfelt natural and so easy
He identified each species
But those who cared not bout his heart
Would simply call him Buggy Bart

And laughs were laughed and names were called
As he walked through high school halls
Wedgies and I just assume
What happened in the boy’s bathroom

Curse those who made him feel inferior
For it was the cafeteria
Where Bart chose to volunteer
And those who teased him live in fear

Of what gets blended in their smoothie
Chocolate chips, raisins and sushi
And carefully inspect their food
To make sure that it doesn’t move.

This post is dedicated to Andrew at All Downhill From Here, who needed some cheering up.

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The Drummer’s Perspective

The stage is set the lights are low
And through the doors we’re hearing
A deejay that calls out our name
And roar of the crowd cheering

And we’ll run up to play soon as
Our roadies and our tech
Can sep’rate our guitarist’s hands
From round our singer’s neck

The feud started so long ago
So far back I can’t trace
And no one can recall why it
Started in the first place

Some say it due to who would ride
Shotgun on the tour bus
While others claim a preference
For chipped ice over crushed

But wives were slept with, lawyers called
Contracts drawn up again
And tempered flared as bowls were left
With just brown M&Ms

Itch powder poured in leather pants
Fist fight in Indiana
And concealed details that would strand
Our singer in Montana

Concerts that degenerate
To nothing but feedback
Guitarist drowns the vocals out
With his Marshall stack

Then hospital bills pile up
Doctor’s would be behooved
To learn procedures where drumsticks
Are surgically removed

And though music’s a healthy way
To take out one’s aggressions
Don’t think they meant a bass guitar
Should be a deadly weapon

But that is how the story ends
With grief and with confusion
And though I mourn deep down I’m glad
There won’t be a reunion.

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Those Eyes

I have a secret fantasy
No one knows bout it but me
It’s really evil, very bad
Involves my teacher Ms. McFad

Clearly there is no one meaner
Caught me passing notes to Gina
“There’s no fooling me she said
I have eyes in back of my head”

So she waged an intervention
Both of us are in detention
Stuck in school life after hell
Our parents grounded us as well

And so that brings me where I am
When the fantasies began
In class all alone I find her
And start sneaking up behind her

Intent to seal my teacher’s fate
With stapler, chalk or paperweight
Silently I hover close
More silent than passing a note

More silent than a yawn or moan
Or those discreetly checking phones
Or rolling eyes or looking glum
Or chewing wads of bubble gum

I raise the weapon of my choice
When so clearly I hear her voice
And to my horror I do find
A sight forever in my mind

That made me run away in dread
For truly in back of her head
Staring so accusingly
Those two eyes looking right at me.

This one is dedicated to my daughter who just started 3rd grade last week.

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Kicking Ass and Taking Names (Future Challenge)

The year is twenty fifty five
I wake up in my bed
Nurse Amanda strolls in with
My breakfast and my meds

I know she hopes this won’t unfold
To an unpleasant scene
When I ask her “Hey man do you
Got some more of the green?”

Her furrowed brow does make it clear
She’s very much opposed
To relive last Friday when I
Did snort them up my nose

Then to the lobby I am wheeled
With the regular crowd
With headphones blasting Judas Priest
Camille says,”It’s too loud!”

And from my wheelchair I do rise
My anger uncontrolled
And so with wrath I scream “If It
Is too loud you’re too old!”

But Camille clearly is unphased
And so I merely frown
And roughly reach out as I turn
Her damn hearing aid down

But as I go to turn around
I see the TV when
I protest at the broadcast “No!
Not Golden Girls again!”

I pull it’s plug out from the wall
So everyone’s resigned
To gather for my favorite treat
That’s right, poetry time

Anna starts out with a sonnet
Two lines will suffice
I wheel her to the other room
While mumbling “Very nice!”

So finally it is my turn
To read my new collection
If there’s old stuff thrown in I’m sure
They’ll have no recollection

And so I start my racy rhymes
Till most of them are blushing
And soon wheel out with snide remarks
Like “Oh gosh, so disgusting”

Soon everybody has cleared out
‘Cept Murray’s in a trance
With a blank smile on his face
And one hand down his pants

And so I say to him “Old boy
Seems we’ve done it again
What you think? Should you and I
Watch some Anchorman 10?”

And that is just another day
My reputation known
For kicking ass and taking names
Down at the nursing home

I’d like to thank Erika Kind for nominating me for this challenge in which you are supposed to come up with some sort of concept of your future. I don’t think whoever came up with the challenge quite imagined it would come out like this but, oh well. You can read Erika’s submission here.

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