Who Knew?

Oh that poor Mr. Coldwater
His wife would drive him mad
The way she was so paranoid
It really was too bad

She hounded him relentlessly
It went on day and night
It seemed that she could barely stand
To let him out of sight

If she picked up the phone to find
None on the other end
She’d deduce rather quickly that
It was a lady friend

And if he were but minutes late
Home from anywhere
The Mrs. would accuse him of
Off having an affair

Strange smells they were suspected too
To set off mind and nose
And stains she questioned as to how
They had got on his clothes

So it seemed their relationship
Was soon to come to bust
For surely what was love built on
If not that of trust

And so the mister packed his bags
And to the night he’d flee
I hear that he went and ran off
With his secretary.

*inspired by the Carol Burnett skit Wrong Number-SML

It Never Snows In Southern California

Can you imagine if it snowed
Here in Southern Cali
Sources say impossible
Citizens would rally

Surfers pack their surfboards up
Bikini babes concur
Beach bums pack their towels as
They say, “That’s gnarly brah!”

We’d all run to the internet
To help us with the struggle
Of looking up exactly how
And where to buy a shovel

And us here in our West Coast state
We would make history
Reporting the most snow blower
Related injuries

The Beverly Hills residents
Would bitterly complain
Instead of rock salt on their drives
They would throw cocaine

They’d roll up their convertibles
And try to stay the course
By wondering if they would need
Snow tires for the Porsche

And those who dared to venture out
Probably would plan
On booking out the whole salon
Just to maintain their tan

The 405 would just shut down
The internet would clog
From all the people ordering
Ski jackets for their dogs

Life coaches would be called upon
And trauma clearly felt
Until the sun comes out and then
The whole two inches melt

*Inspired by the inclement weather on the East Coast – SML

Oh I do hear you beckon me
Sitting in his home
Where he has with such trust and faith
Left me all alone

Your austere wood it calls to me
Your subtly coiled handle
Begs me to find his secrets held
Possibly a scandal

Will there be some love letters
From partners girl or boy
Whips and chains and handcuffs or
A vibrating sex toy

A list of bills now overdue
A contract that is meant
To state the time and place and means
To kill the president

Do guns and knives and hand grenades
Softly lie within
Perhaps dismembered body parts
Or bags of heroin

Likely an avalanche of things
Will come for the attack
And he’ll walk in as I attempt
To stuff everything back

My curiosity grows great
As I ponder this matter
Which has since masked what now appears
Great pressure from my bladder

And so it is with strong resolve
To the restroom I’ll go
Where I am best to escape what
I’m better not to know

The secrets that the drawer may hold
I’d rather not upset
As now my eyes rest upon the
Medicine cabinet