The Deal Of A Lifetime

Hello I’m Trisha Trashmeister
You’re gonna say ‘no way!’
When I show you the product that
I have for you today

It’s an electric tea pot that
You put upon the shelf
It actually can brew the tea
Up all by itself

It finds the little tea bags with
These cute electric arms
And brews it up quite perfectly
It works just like a charm

And if you set the timer you’ll
Have tea at breakfast time
Call now and it’s a steal for only

I guarantee you will find nothing
Like it at the store
So call in the next hour and
What’s that? There’s something more!

For just today a super deal
Be pleasantly surprised
Because for just ten dollars more
This row of chopping knives

I say they are the most amazing
Of your silverware
They purée carrots, lima beans
They’ll even cut your hair

This is for you if you do find
That chopping food’s a chore
You really have to get these knives
But what’s that? Wait! There’s more!

Do you struggle with acne, wrinkles
Bags and sags and spots?
Hate surgery and Restilin
Afraid of Botox shots?

Well look no further cause your skin
Is gonna be just fine
With this amazing product yours
For just 9.99

So for just 40 bucks you’ll get
The teapot and the cream
With the row of chopping knives
No, this is not a dream!

Cause while supplies last you can have
A brand new almanac
My arms and legs and I’ll throw in
The shirt right off my back

And antique silver doodads so
That you can hold your corn
A quilt that my grandmother made
And even my first born

But better call while supplies last
Cause you can never tell
When they’ll come round to put me back
Into my padded cell.


Someone’s Gonna Pay

My brow is furrowed eyes are steeled
My outward ammunition
My lips are locked to what you’d call
An upward snarl position

My dialogue is limited
To grunts and moans and mixed
With lots of exclamation points
Pound signs and asterisks

No telling what I’ll do when I
Feel so black in my heart
Might stalk old ladies at close distance
With my shopping cart

Might make some cookies and with anger
Gulp down the whole batch
Might tell Joan from accounting that
Her outfit doesn’t match

Might honk at some pedestrians
I see out in the street
Return half eaten food to Ralphs
Say I lost the receipt

And if I see you laughing then
I’ll fix you with eye rolls
Tell you I found my fish this morning
Face up in the bowl

I might put some brat’s favorite toy
Up on the highest shelf
And tough luck to my boss he can
Make copies for himself

Might put glue in your hairspray or
Into your shoes some snails
Might send out five or six or more
Harshly wrote emails

And then I guess we’ll have to see
Just how tomorrow goes
Just sayin’ that there best be milk
For my Cheerios.


The Charisma of The Misanthrope

Abandon hope, The Misanthrope
He doesn’t suffer fools
Those vying his attention should
He deem to label cool

Try hard to meet his standards you’ll
Fall woefully beneath
And fixed with eye rolls like leftover
Food stuck in his teeth

The few that have his number know
It’s best to text not phone
And cancel plans, a happy man
He’s better left alone

And though his social circle’s thin
They say it’s all the fashion
The privileged few that brag that they
Like less, hate with more passion

And though I gave up long ago
I do happen to fall
Upon unlikely evidence
He has a Facebook wall

Filled with clever memes each one
Condemns humanity
His friends all laugh, I note he has
So many more than me.


Seance Conveyance

Let’s have a seance, come with me
It really won’t be scary
Eat cake with Marie Antoinette
Cocktails with bloody Mary

Let’s hold hands and explore the depths
Of eerie necromancy
Conjure up Sid Vicious and
Ask him if he killed Nancy

Let’s gossip with Joan Rivers for
The low down dirty scoop
Ask Andy Warhol what’s the deal
With the Campbells soup

Write poetry with Morrison
And lunch with Julia Child
Dress up with Liberace see
If we can cop his style

Tell Fred Rogers his cardigan’s
Forever inside out
Ask Edvard Munch what the hell
The dude’s screaming about

Make puns about losing your head
To poor old Anne Boelyn
Call up Jimmy Hoffa and say
“Hey, where have you been?”

And so we hold hands darken lights
The scene spookily set
And see the messages spelled out
With Oiuja board’s planchette

“Oh spirit please do show yourself
And say to me your name
Winehouse? Jackson? Marilyn?
Belushi? Kurt Cobain?”

I hear a phlegmy cough the smell
Of mothballs is distinct
She says ‘It’s your aunt Sylvie dear!”
Come on, what did you think?

I speak to you beyond the grave
It’s awfully hot in there
Plus I can’t rest not knowing if you’ve
Got clean underwear.”

'F-E-E-D-T-H-E-D-O-G . . . Hey that's spooky! Why would your granddad say that?'

‘F-E-E-D-T-H-E-D-O-G . . . Hey that’s spooky! Why would your granddad say that?’