My Girl Left Me For Satan

My girl left me for Satan
She said it was transcendental
When she saw him at the potluck
At the New Satanic Temple
Well she left me with the dog and I
Am cooking all my food
But I guess I must admit that he’s
One charismatic dude


My girl left me for Satan
And I guess it’s just as well
Though it’ll be kind of awkward when
We’re all burning in hell

Well it just ain’t been the same now that
My life became unfurled
Since my baby left me for the king
Of the underworld
I’m tired and I’m beat up and
Well most of all I’m bored
And I’m strongly thinking I should just
Go and worship the lord


Well he stole my soul and now I guess
He stole my girlfriend too
But I guess the bathroom mirror should
Have given me a clue
Cause the steam don’t cover lipstick
And the truth is rather mean
But it’s very clearly written there
Says, ‘Satan loves Erlene!’


I’m strongly considering forming a Satanic country band. Who’s in?

The Fennelly’s Diner

Some couples take vacations. Some have children. My parents opened up a restaurant. Well, I don’t know if that was what they thought would be THEEE THING to save their failing marriage but, in any case, here were these two people who seemingly hated each other, working together every day and going home every night, and now they had something else to fight about.

And fight they did…much to the delight of the many patrons who would line up around the block for our meh manicotti and processed penne. But it wasn’t the food they were coming for, it was the entertainment. And they got their money’s worth. Every night.

I can’t tell you how many times I’d come out of the kitchen, my parents’ hurled obscenities echoing through the dining room. I’d see the dirty looks diners gave each other if clanging silverware disturbed the hush, lest they miss a muffled word and go home without getting the juicy details of the altercation du jour. Other patrons tried to look nonchalant as they crept away from the wall, discreetly putting down the water glass they were holding up to their ear. Then, my parents would emerge, as if on cue, my mother’s tear stained face, my father with mashed potatoes in his hair.

Of course there was no respite to be had at school. Few made any effort to conceal the ever present vicious gossip. My parents’ diner was soon dubbed THEE place to go if you were going to break up with someone. It was said that seeing what a relationship could become made the dumpee feel relieved. One of our dishes was even lovingly nicknamed the It’s Not You It’s Me-atloaf.

Other kids said that my parents’ fighting made their moms and dads feel better about their own imperfect relationships. Chicken blessed. Still others said that the fighting sparked lively debates in their homes about who was right and who was wrong. Devil’s Food Advo-cake.

Well, finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I went home and I told my mother and father how much their fighting was bothering me; how it was ruining my life; how I just couldn’t take it any more. The next day they went out and found a marriage counselor.

Mrs. Stuart taught my parents how to get along better. She taught them yoga poses that would help open up the channels of communication between them. She taught them how to express their feelings in a loving, tactful manner.

My parent’s marriage improved over the next few months but it wasn’t strong enough to survive the closing of the restaurant. Six weeks after the doors locked for the last time, the divorce was finalized. I don’t think they ever completely forgave me either.


Poison Pens

They say our love was toxic and
It ran it’s fated course
It’s no surprise we’re headed for
A quite ugly divorce

I didn’t like the way you breathed
I drained your life of joy
I cheated with the chauffeur and
You slept with the pool boy

You took the dog you took the yacht
Said you were unfulfilled
But I think it’s a little much
To go and have me killed

But if you want to play that game
Then go do as you please
Cause now you are a victim of
Venereal disease

You should have got that looked at but
You thought you would be fine
So now I’ll have to castrate you
Right there in chapter nine

And maybe that’s a little harsh
Or maybe downright evil
But you don’t even want to know
What happens in the sequel

Where there will be no limits to
The ways in which you’ll suffer
You just may lose your job and have to
Move in with your mother

Followed by such grievances
And all in my defense
Let’s talk about a series of
Unfortunate events

Most venomous of poison pens
That ever did exist
And leaves yours in the dust trails of
The Times bestseller list

The royalties are rolling in
But you have the last laugh
For your well planned hesitation now
I have to give you half



Seven Urns

The Widow Foust lived in a house
On her sill 7 urns
Each for a spouse now dead and gone
And posthumously burned

But time went on the widow set
Her sights on new romance
And really she just needed some
More space to put her plants

For the urns she thought she could
Just dump them in a box
Or put them in that drawer where she
Kept all her unmatched socks

But with the ashes thought she might
Be more commemorative
What to do she’d not a clue
She had to get creative

Remodeling supplies were short
She needed help posthaste
So there went Dan the handyman
Into wallpaper paste

And Arnie loved Fido so much
She thought he wouldn’t quibble
To be the little bits she served
There mixed in with his kibble

And Joe he was a plumber yes
He had the magic touch
She knew just what to do that night
The toilet wouldn’t flush

So down into the pipes he went
And with a giant splat
So there you go, her toilet flushed
Much better after that

And drummer Josh, he had the beat
To hold it all together
Now he’s camped inside an amp
(It seems to sound much better).

And Audrey loved the laundry so
I’m sure she would be pleased
She’s mixed with the detergent and
Then small bits in the bleach

Jen was a cosmetologist
The widow bid adieu
Now she’s in an eyeshadow
A favorite shade of blue

And Jason was a garbageman
So fitting that his ash
Was easily disposed of with
The Tuesday evening trash

And so with each spouse aptly placed
Each one she held so dear
A weight is lifted from her mind
Her conscience almost clear

For if they saw their final digs
Sure they’d rejoice quite gladly
And forgive her for just why
It had to end so badly


Famous Fictional Couples-Where Are They Now?

imgresJack Sprat would eat no fat
His wife would eat no lean
‘Til Mrs. Sprat got really sick
Of being size sixteen
She traded all that fatty food
For a much lighter fare
And much to Mr Sprat’s chagrin
She ate his cupboard bare
But not for aggravation would
He soon decide to dump her
Oh what to do with a size two?
He liked his women plumper.



05ae302b8f85d955fc82939e748d3840Danny and Sandy were to marry
Things were hot and flirty
Their mamas said “Dears college first
You both are pushing thirty”
And so they went to different states
Dan said “I won’t forget ya”
Came day or two twas “Sandy who?”
Cause Alice hand jived better
Then came the sixties and free love
The years of ‘feed your head’
As Sandy gobbled mushrooms and
Toured with the Grateful Dead
So question love’s claim to success
Attested in a song
That credits couple’s chemistry
To ‘Ramma lam ding dong’.


These were written in response to a prompt I found on the  Once Upon Your Prime blog. The original prompt can be found here. You’ll see it’s for a writing contest and they are offering an honest to god cash prize. Unfortunately, on closer inspection, I found that it’s past the deadline…and they don’t accept poetry. Oh well, still a great prompt! And here is Stephanie’s entry: Could Captain Von Trapp & Maria Be Headed for Divorce?

Matchmaker Muddle

Did I tell you bout Aunt Nettie?
Thought she was the schiz
Of self appointed matchmakers
The greatest in the biz

Her ears perked up her radar sharp
Her scalp and ears would tingle
She’d be the first one in the town
To know if you were single

Then phones would ring into the night
The spreading of the news
Who knew a single Jewish man
Who looked just like Tom Cruise?

Nonsmoker with a puppy dog
Who liked to sing and dance
A sexy hunky fireman
Pref’rably from France

A manly man who had a beard
Kind of a dude’s dude
Who also liked walks on the beach
And skydives in the nude

Or an aging gentleman
With vast amounts of wealth
Who let’s just say may not quite be
In the finest of health

And so her skills preceded her
Or so she’d like to boast
Though often not the perfect man
She tried hard to come close

So women did their best to try
Not to act too appalled
When their tall dark and handsome showed up
Short and fat and bald

Or Laurie the librarian
She’d found her match for sure
Till he’d end the night by asking her
The best places to score

Told Earlette she found a keeper for her
Best that she could meet
Turned out he was a homeless guy
She picked up off the street

And so it seemed that Nettie’s failures
Came out quite a cost
All hid from her following each dismal
Breakup and divorce

And though Nettie would notice how
Her friends would all steer clear
This did not ring the death knell of the
End of her career

Quite opposite her passion grew
There would be no forsaking
She now has her own website in
The world of online dating

Picky Nicky

It was me and Eddie going steady
Thought we were bound for life
Till I saw him eat a pizza slice
With a fork and knife

So then it seemed Tyler might be
Worthy of my affections
Til a Nickelback CD turned up
In his record collection

I thought Caleb was a solid guy
But it just wouldn’t do
That he couldn’t seem to name each guy that
Was in Motley Crue

On to Marvin who within my heart
I would hold near and dear
But then he ate a sandwich and
Got mayo in his beard

And Jeff I thought him a sure thing
Til it ended in shambles
When I found out in the summer he
Wore socks under his sandals

And Charlie smelled of play dough, Ted’s
Laugh sounded like a duck
And Grant was over when I found
His band completely sucked

I guess that I will just give up
On all my love affairs
And sleep with Mr. Wiggles my
Trustworthy teddy bear

He’s sweet and cuddly and so cute
And every night he’ll hug me
Although that bow tie that he wears
Is really starting to bug me.

Inspired by a blogversation I had with Andrew over at his Lonely Author blog. Thanks Andrew.


Hypotenuseless Harry

Harry thought oh what’s the use
Of finding a hypotenuse
And never bothered with the notion
Of preimage or rigid motion

Dismissed it’s value in his life
Till wanting to find him a wife
A lovely girl asked was he able
To build for her a coffee table

But no means could he dare to wangle
No concept of congruent angles
All of it seemed so complex
He couldn’t comprehend vertex

He tried to dazzle her with sports
But could do nothing of the sort
In fact he clearly was inept
At grasping just basic concepts

At basketball he had no clues
To throw at angles called obtuse
And at baseball – a total waste
He couldn’t even find home base

They thought him a complete moron
Since he knew not a pentagon
Or maybe if he had the smarts
To get a job in graphic arts

All that remained a mystery
Could not find points of symmetry
Or any sort of transformation
Or the center of dilation

So Harry’s fate he would bemoan
He was destined to die alone
All because he failed to see
The value of geometry

Which could have been the key to save
Harry from his lonely grave
Where he forever laid to rest
Not knowing it’s height, width, or depth

My son had an extra credit project over the holidays to write a poem about how geometry comes in handy in every day life. This is my take on it.


The Thrill of The Chase

Sexy Sal he was my pal
And so fed his obsession
To scout around the town and find
A host of missed connections

The pregnant girl in Walmart or
The chick with the cold sore
The girl shoplifting turkey legs
At the grocery store

The waitress at the greasy spoon
Who served flies in his omelet
The woman who’s hair he held up
When she kneeled down to vomit

The girl who saw him winking and
Asked him, was he deranged
The bag lady who sits on the
Corner and asks for change

And with each one he finds a spark
Or so he does insist
And goes back home to write an ad
That he posts on Craigslist

But until only recently
Twas little that came of
His ads in missed connections and
His quest to find true love

(Though to be fair responses came
Which nearly filled that purpose
A quite trustworthy phone sex line
A close by escort service

A reputable psychic who
Tells him what’s in his stars
A needy Nigerian uncle and
A man who sells used cars)

And just when he all but gave up
On love or lust or dates
A girl answered his ad and it seemed
She was really great

They talked a bit, it looked like she
Was kind and fun and sweet
And so they thought a good idea
They should once again meet

So at Friday at 8 PM
He told her she should be
Waiting at the platform for
The uptown northbound D

All arranged quite carefully
Just so it would coincide
With the D train that came in
On the southbound side

And so there’d be an ad for her
On Craigslist the next day
Bout how they made eye contact as
He waved and rode away.


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.