Would You Rather…

Would you rather future travel or
To go back to what was
Would you rather look fat in your jeans
Or tell your wife she does

Would you rather whipped cream in your mouth
Or would you spray cheese whiz
Would you rather to be bad in bed
Or love someone who is

Would you rather have bad memories
Or good ones you forget
Keep up with the Kardashians
Vie for The Bachelorette

Would you rather loose your cash or clothes
Playing a game of poker
Be Spiderman or Superman
The Penguin or The Joker

Would you rather I keep asking you
These questions most inane
Or would you rather I shut up
And stop playing this game


Roller Skating Man

Oh I never will forget that day
I saw you at the Moonlight Rollerway
You were probably 6 foot 7 or 8
But 6 foot 10 when you put on your skates
Bet you didn’t even break a sweat
When you did plies or pirouettes
And who but you could ever make a spin
Look so impressively masculine

Now the lights are beginning to fall
And they’re bustin out the disco ball
Babe do you know how you make me feel
Looking like a John Travolta on wheels
And in the meantime I’ll have to dream
Some day we’ll dance to Abba’s Dancing Queen
And until then I’ll just have to wait
Till we can do the couple’s backwards skate

And you know that I would be delighted
If my love for you was just requited
But for now I guess I’ll never know
Seeing you play Red Light, Green Light Go
Look at me, you know I’m just a hot mess
Oh my god was that an arabesque?
And as I’m staring at your animal grace
My wheels they slip and I fall on my face

This was written after a recent trip to a roller skating rink (after God knows how many years). I saw a guy there who resembled a 7 ft. tall Dave Grohl on wheels perform roller skate ballet in the center of the rink. These words are meant to be just as wonderfully cheesy as everything about that afternoon was.


What Would You Do?

I’d tell the pope a dirty joke
Blow raspberries at a nun
Hold up the New York Federal reserve
With a rubber tommy water gun

I’d put my face into the ground
And lick up worms and dirt
Go to a gangsta rap concert
Wearing a Slayer shirt

I would take the neighbor’s dog
Out on a dinner date
Go streaking naked at next year’s
Presidential debate

Ride through the desert backwards on
A quite ill tempered llama
I’d wear a garbage bag to work
I’d French kiss your mama

I’d jump a double decker bus
In a high end sports car
And that my friend is what I’d do
For a Klondike bar….

Especially if it was Reese’s.

I’d like to thank my son Jesse Bergen for the inspiration for this one.


My Bitchin’ Kitchen

The pickles are fickle
The almonds are nuts
The shellfish are selfish
The turkey’s cold cut

The artichoke’s heartless
The cake is a flake
Bologna’s a phony
The ham’s always baked

The apple pie’s tarty
Lasagna is cheesy
The prune is a prude
The eggs are too easy

The bacon is taken
The veggies are steamed
And don’t get me started
On the sour cream

And so my heart’s broken
By my ‘frigerator
I guess you could call me
A cereal dater.


A Day In The Life

A boring Monday looms ahead
You curse your boss, the bastard
But this can be alleviated
With a tab of acid

Dissolve some in your morning brew
And that which you’re complaining
Turns to what you can’t deny
Is much more entertaining

Edith greets me at the door
In her usual place
But today her glasses seem
To melt right off her face

I hurry to my cubicle
My mouth tired from grinning
A distant though a distinct sound
Of my telephone ringing

Lights and numbers morph and trail
Like some elegant dancer
Can’t say how long I stared before
I thought it best to answer

But to decipher who or what
A task I found confounding
Until the poor girl nearly screamed
“It’s Janet from accounting!!!”

I knew not why she called, some silly
Numbers she was needing
But by the end I do believe
We found out life’s true meaning

And after that what happened well
I can not say for sure
Some say I spent the day barefoot
Just rolling round the floor

Others say bets were taken on
Who would emerge the winner
After a valiant battle fought
I waged against the printer

I went home thought about my day
And with great trepidation
On what I ended up submitting
For that presentation

For what may have come out of me
I’ve really not an inkling
Turns out the client really liked
My out of the box thinking

A Blessing In Disguise

The author would write feverishly
Behind doors tightly shut
Until a tragic accident
A fatal paper cut

Which nicked a major artery
And silenced thoughts and pen
And such a shame this happened
Between volumes 9 and 10

Which disappointed readers so
For those who did take tally
Would know that 10 would culminate
In the series finale

So his family thought real hard
‘Bout his final request
To have the series brought unto
An end upon his death

But greed did fill their thoughts and jailbait
Wife easily swayed
The minds of kin who never really
Liked him anyway

And so it was the pen bestowed
In hands of Cousin Kevin
Who finished chapter 10 and then
Went on to write 11.

Who thought it best the mom die by
Spontaneous combustion
And had grandma fall victim to
An alien abduction

And made a Frankenstein robot
A silent deadly killer
Which could be fine if this was not
A suspense mystery thriller

And in attempts to lure fans of
Romantic comedy
The two main characters hook up
In chapters two and three

And sales did dwindle drastically
And contracts they were dropped
And bad reviews flowed rampantly
All publications stopped

The author he rolled over in
His grave, looked on in grief
But if he just could breath a sigh
It’d be one of relief

For he did doubt his tired lines
Would fool his truest reader
The truth was he’d had no clue how
To end the damn thing either.

This post is dedicated to Randstein. We can only hope he makes it out of his series alive.



I was just sitting round the house
Not doing anything
Till horror of all horrors as
My phone lights up and dings

I view it like a thing unwashed
And with great trepidation
I poke and prod and hesitate
To view the conversation

And wary I pick up the phone
Afraid of what comes next
It could be a deadly assault
Known as a Wall of Text

Which I’ll squint at from afar
Not knowing what to say
Would our friendship end if I
Just simply wrote okay?

Or maybe it is Evelyn
Texting to say she’s bored
I ponder whether I should just
Let this one be ignored

And hope when she next questions me
If only she’d believe
My cell phone’s acting funky and
It never was received

Perhaps a voice that’s coming in
From virtual beyond
Attempting to communicate
All in emoticons

Or someone who’s not making sense
Illiterate or stoned
But either way it’s possible
I might just have to phone!!!

Or maybe I will seem too harsh
On maybe just too tame
Or maybe just seem stupid cause
That really was inane

So I’ll write “great’ “sounds good” “okay”
Lacking imagination
But all is good long as it serves
To end the conversation


Through The Nevers

Never ride on a ostrich’s back
Never should you sport a mullet
Never mix Jager with lemonade
Never pick your nose in public

Never make promises that you can’t keep
And end up with one that is broken
Never bite off more than you can chew
Never chew with your mouth open

Never call him before three days is up
Don’t giggle when you’re in the sack
And never should you say I love you until
You’re certain that you’ll hear it back

Never take candy from strangers and
Don’t take wooden nickels as well
Never buy egg rolls from shoe salesmen
Or bridges that they’ve go to sell

Never wear white after Labor Day
Never wear brown shoes with black
Never go out with panty lines showing
Never wear a fanny pack

Never go to sleep before you make up
Or believe what you can’t see
And never reject a stranger’s advice
As long as they give it for free.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been inspired by a prompt, but when this one came around yesterday, I just couldn’t resist.



For Patricia

A deja vu, a feeling hits
And I am taken to
The city’s past which lies outside
My kitchen window’s view

With streets that seemed to call my name
And beckoned to me nightly
When it appeared the stars did shine
Just a bit more brightly

“Let’s meet up at midnight down
at Hollywood and Vine
And drive in dad’s convertible
To the Hollywood sign”

And I remember starlet’s glow
And still smell their perfume
As they floated princess like
Into my living room

So different and yet so much like
The life they led on stage
As I would play a background role
Hollywood’s Golden Age

And I remember tears were cried
And I remember death
And the words that they’d speak to
The girl behind the desk

And I remember stories told
In passages I’ve written
But I can’t for my life recall
Why I came in the kitchen

This poem was written for Patricia Brown at The English Professor at Large, by request, inspired by her latest post I Forgot. Those who are familiar with Patricia’s blog will know this is meant to be written in the first person, from her perspective.


The Agony of De-Feet

The man did love his woman so
Thrilled with her every touch
But those squeaky shoes she wore
Did darn near drive him nuts

And not to hurt her feelings since
With manners he was bred
He bought her heels and mules in hopes
That she’d wear those instead

And she did thank him kindly but
It seemed that she did choose
To persist donning her feet with
Those same old squeaky shoes

As he was near to his wit’s end
He was a desperate man
And so a last ditch effort he
Devised an evil plan

Some rosebuds and some candlelight
Would serve as a facade
To take away those ghastly things
While giving a massage

And just as she was well relaxed
The cursed things were stashed
Right next to the banana peels
And wrappers in the trash

It seemed his plan worked perfectly
When the massage was done
He feigned shocked ignorance while she
Would search where they had gone

But this poor man would pay a price
For his act of deceit
Revealed not squeaky shoes she had
Instead twas squeaky feet.