The Cab Driver From Hell

As I entered the cab I knew that something wasn’t right,
The fog ensnared the headlights on that cold, winter night.
The driver sized me up and down with a suspicious look,
As horror seized my very soul and so from fright I shook.

Conversation not his forte and so silence ensued,
Just once his door did creak ajar he gave a gruff ‘where to?’.
And if this cab ride would end well, somehow I did doubt,
But I did fear for my life at trying to get out.

Concentrating on the face of my frightening escort,
Should I ever make it out alive to file a report.
But as we sailed through soupy skies suspicion was increased,
His features morphed from that of man to skeleton to beast.

Through rutted streets and potholed turns, the ride was getting gnarly.
I searched for his driver’s I.D. but it read only ‘Charlie’.
It occurred to me where we headed I did not know,
But only that Manhattan’s lights had faded long ago.

But rather than protest now I thought I’d simply wait,
If only to prolong the meeting of my ugly fate.
And so it did cross my mind to help my situation,
Perhaps he’d see me as a friend if I made conversation.

Although not easy to find words I thought I’d take a stab,
And ask him ’bout intriguing people he drove in his cab.
He greets me with an icy stare to make the heavens freeze,
But mutters on about Virgil, Dante and Hercules.

And it was at that point I knew the end was guaranteed,
So I lost all composure and for dear life I did plead.
But it was all for naught as I came to the realization,
That we’d already come upon our eerie destination.

So I fell down on my knees and up to him I cried,
“I will do anything if you don’t leave me here to die,
In this godforsaken place I beg and scream for mercy!”
And fell upon the sign that says ‘Welcome to New Jersey’.


Everything Happens For A Reason

Clever comebacks come to us,
When lying on our backs,
And fill us with conviction,
That ‘we should have said that!’
But outcomes do elude us,
When reclined in our beds,
Perhaps these cunning retorts,
Are better left unsaid.


The Final Countdown

Silly Sally ran a tally,
Of all the days to be,
19 days until Christmas,
25 to New Year’s Eve.

71 ’til Valentine’s Day,
Will roll around again,
122 ’til Easter and,
Just one ’til the weekend.

And so the days went passing by,
With no time to reflect,
For whether good or whether bad,
Time to look towards the next.

Years passed and she got older,
She never wavered from,
Her great enthusiasm for,
Waiting for days to come.

When she lay on her death bed,
Sally was heard to speak,
That Christmas Day would come at last,
Exactly in two weeks.

But Sally’s counting came to nought,
As her obsessive ways,
Would lead her to breathe her last breath,
After just 13 days.


Bad Reputation

Did you look at her today?
She thinks she’s all the rage,
It’s really not appropriate,
For someone of her age.

Her manner’s too aggressive,
Her nature unrefined,
She’s too opinionated,
I think she’s out of line.

Her poetry is quite crass,
It’s on the verge of libel,
She serves up frozen dinners,
And does not recycle.

Her wooden floors are not scrubbed,
It really is disgusting,
Her refrigerator’s top,
Needs a thorough dusting.

I’ve never seen them at church,
They probably are pagan,
The latest rumor has it,
They all worship Satan.

And what’s up with her children?
Does she think them rock stars?
They should have history books,
Instead of those guitars.

She should really tweeze those brows,
And straighten out her hair,
What do you think they say behind
Your back when you’re not there?


Deliciously Debatable

History’s delicious debate,
Seems to be that of pie vs. cake,
Why it does seem nearly unfair,
With cake and all it’s stately layers.

It’s intense flavor variety,
Must send pie to minority,
For apple, strawberry and peach,
If I want fruit, that’s what I’ll eat.

Though some differ in conclusion,
Unequal frosting distribution,
Makes it seem almost a crime,
Swaying the arguments towards pie.

In utility pie gets the mark,
Whoever heard of a cake chart?
And it does little to compare,
In equaling to mc squared.

But all of this math’s too much work,
When I’m thinking about dessert,
So I’ll give all of this a break,
And I’ll just cast my vote with cake.

But my opinion might waver,
All depending on the flavor,
It’s chocolate pie all day and night,
If the cake is just plain old white.

A response to Tom Balistreri on his blog Ode To Pie.  Thanks for the inspiration, Tom!


Kids Say The Darnedest Things!

I ask my kids a bunch of things,
Do cats have thoughts? Do fish have wings?
Do spirits live when bodies die?
All they say is, “I like pie.”

I ask my kids for their opinions,
Question their assignments given,
Ask them the who’s and where’s and why’s,
All they say is, “I like pie.”

All this drives me to frustration,
As I see this communication’s,
Just meant to drive me up a wall,
And they don’t like pie at all.


You Should Have Known

She looks at her with weary eyes,
Impatient with her tears,
Foreboding signs, she had been warned,
It’s been building for years.

She tried to point out the red flags,
The hurtful words he used,
The many times he told her that,
He wasn’t in the mood.

She tries to be sympathetic,
How could she not have known,
She disperses one last Kleenex,
And says it time to go.

Her patient’s lack of perception’s
Such a disappointment,
But she has some time to relax,
Before her next appointment,

And so she reaches for her tea,
When her phone lights up,
Her husband says, “Late one tonight-
Honey, don’t wait up.”

This poem was inspired by a book of the same name by Jean Hanff Korelitz.


No Lovin’ In The Coven

Wherever I’d venture to go,
I’d always hide my little toe,
It’s nail curved at an odd angle,
And it seemed like it was mangled.

One day while I was at the gym,
By some unforeseen happening,
I’m telling you I was in shock,
To find I had forgot my sock.

A girl looked at my toe quite stunned,
Called to her friends, “She is the one.”
And then, without much discussion,
I was the leader of a coven.

At first we had a lot of fun,
We conjured spells from dusk to dawn,
But then I got a little bored,
With eye of newt and toe of frog.

But when to my friends I did say,
“I think I need a small vacay,”
It seems they did not take it well,
And wanted me condemned to hell.

And with this news I was bereft,
I thought that we were BFFs!
They tried to tie me to a stake,
I thought it best to make a break.

So I just had a thought ad hoc,
Said ‘Hot warlock at 10 o clock!”
And when they all looked to the right,
I stole away into the night.

So if a spooky girl comes round,
Please tell her I can not be found,
And let us again never talk,
Of what came of a forgotten sock.


Abigail Biggs’ Pig

Living in Massachusetts,
Here in 1693,
No secret that the neighbors,
Weren’t very fond of me.

I wasn’t much for kind words,
Or roosters that crowed at dawn,
Or the way their animals,
Went grazing on my lawn.

But I guess my biggest gripe,
Was with old Abigail Biggs,
Who couldn’t seem to control,
The behavior of her pig.

Every day I’d say to her,
“Abigail this can not be,
You’ve got to keep your dumb swine,
The hell off my property!”

But Abbey wouldn’t listen,
And back on my lawn he’d tread,
Until one day that dumb old pig,
He dropped right over dead.

But I saw her little kids,
Outside the day before,
Where they fed poison ivy,
To that unsuspecting boar.

Those kids should have been punished,
For being such little brats,
But instead, next thing I knew,
I was in jail for witchcraft.

And while I was in prison,
Abigail would catch my sight,
I said, “I didn’t do this,
Please say something, make it right!”

But Abigail ignored me,
So I continued to yell,
“You know the good Lord sees you,
And He’ll send you straight to hell!”

But after months of waiting,
Finally the bell would toll,
And there I was facing down,
My old friend the Gallows Pole.

I looked to my audience,
It’s a lucky thing I did,
When I spied no other than,
My dear friend Abigail Biggs.

I gave her my best evil eye,
Which she could not ignore,
Yet it was a might too late,
When she timidly came forth.

The rope tightened on my neck,
And my arms began to twitch,
She said “I think you misheard me,
The word I used was b-”


The Belle of The Ball

I went out last night to party,
I really lived it up,
The ultimate belle of the ball,
I just can’t say enough.

My remarks wise, my advice sage,
My retorts fun, sassy,
I was coy, cool and flirtatious,
Yet I kept it classy.

I cut the rug on the dance floor,
So graceful and fluent,
As if Michael Jackson himself,
Guided every movement.

And when the time came to go home,
They begged me for my keys,
They were silly to have worried,
For I made it home with ease!

But now I have an aching head,
Can’t find my car at all,
And I’m wondering why my friends,
Will not return my calls.