What?

Communicating on the fly
with empathetic protocol,
I’d lob a thought and your reply
assured me that you caught it all.

The interchange of sparkling wit
between us was a smorgasboard
of lively parlance to befit
the range of topics we explored.

But suddenly…

Everyone began to mumble;
TV’s on, the walls are shaking;
sentence fragments feint and fumble
through the loopy route they’re taking.

Funny how, as ordinary
conversation grows abstruser,
now the tone is thrust-and-parry.
Hard of hearing? No! Not you sir.

===
cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2017

Large from the Midnight Raid

marge

(with apologies to Lord Tennyson)

Half a loaf, half a loaf,
Half a loaf onward.
All in the belly at once,
Toasted and buttered.
“Downward the raisin bread,
Charge past the gums!” she said.
Into the belly, the crunch
Echoed and sputtered.

“Forward the Midnight Raid!
Slather the marmalade!”
(Not tho’ the sleeper knew
Someone had plundered.)

Pizza and pudding cup,
Hers not to pass ’em up.
Cookies?  Another batch
Scavenged and down the hatch.

Mirror to right of her
Mirror to left of her
Mirror behind her,
Back to the cupboard.
“Diet begins at dawn,
After the gravy’s gone,”
Humbly she blubbered.

———

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2012

Embarrassed

blush

How unremarkably the day commenced.
You’d think there’d be a pounding in the head
or bitter foretaste — something that evinced
the warning signal: “Dingbat, stay in bed.”

In seven seconds flat, my face has turned
a dozen shades of crimson. I’ve outclassed
the planet’s leading idiots and earned
the title, Queen of Faux Pas. I’m aghast.

No other course of action now exists:
I’ll have to join a convent, change my name,
tell friends and family, “Cross me off your lists
before your lives are tainted with the shame.”

But, look astern … hope’s foaming in my wake!
(I realize I dreamed my worst mistake.)

———

cc-by-nc-ndMary Boren,  2000

Conversation with a Saint

victorian-woman

“Let your women keep silence in the churches; …” – I Corinthians 14:34

I shall witness heaven’s glory,
learn the meaning of the story,
smell the sweet celestial roses,
have a dialogue with Moses,
meet the other saints and martyrs.
Whew! And all that’s just for starters.

After days of hugging Jesus,
I’ll go drifting on the breezes
over to Apostles’ Tower,
bastion of enlightened power,
where I might politely query
God’s devoted missionary:

“Brother Paul, I find it troubling.
Don’t you like us frilly, bubbling
girls? I mean no disrespect, sir,
but within the female sector
your instructions are a puzzle.
Women born to wear a muzzle?

To Corinthians and Romans
did you mean to say that woman’s
proper place is in submission,
or was that your own rendition
of the Spirit’s implication,
subject to interpretation?

Yield to men and mutely follow?
That’s a bitter pill to swallow.
Was that just how Jesus said it,
or should we give you the credit?
Well, at least I aimed to try it.
Sorry, though, I couldn’t buy it.

Was it really your intention
to encourage deep dissension?
Spouting rules in such profusion
generated much confusion.
Mightn’t things have turned out better
if you hadn’t mailed that letter?

Please excuse me. I’m confessing
ignorance, not second-guessing..
I don’t mean to be judgmental —
my opinion’s incidental.
I just couldn’t help but wonder
if you made a zealous blunder.”

… But before my last word’s flung,
He’ll cry, “Woman, hold your tongue!”

———

cc-by-nc-ndMary Boren,  1998

 

I Scream

no-more-ice-cream

In the aftermath of an upheaval
such as not seen before in my life,
I was thinking, “No no, don’t believe I’ll
ever want to be anyone’s wife.

There’s a lot to be said for the freedom
of abiding in solitude’s glow,
and commitments (for any who need ’em)
are as fleeting as tracks in the snow. ”

As the sages have said, “Send the heavens
into spasms of riotous mirth
by announcing your plans.” Laughter leavens
self-delusion like nothing on earth.

He appeared on a soft summer flurry
like a popsicle placed in my paw
by an angel alerting me, “Hurry!
Better lick it before it can thaw.”

Now the miracle he is creating
as my witness, my mirror, my guide
is unceasingly regenerating
in the heart of this fortunate bride.

———

cc-by-nc-nd  Mary Boren, 2007

The Seventh Sin

buddha

As summer settles in, my silhouette
expands accordingly. The deadly sin
of gluttony results in deep regret.
I wish I’d left the Fritos in the bin
and pepperoni on the plate. The skin
around my middle wobbles like a bowl
of Jello balanced on a bowling pin.
My appetite runs rampant, self control
a fleeting and elusive bid to win
the battle of the bulge, to my chagrin.

While brooding on the shape my thighs are in
(a ponderous accomplishment beset
with sedentary decadence), my chin
has doubled twice — it’s now a full quartet.
Last week outside the Chinese luncheonette,
some children throwing pennies in the hole
mistook me for a Buddha statuette.
It’s clear enough to see, I’m on a roll
with jam and butter, reaching with a net
for anything I haven’t eaten yet.

———

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2010

The Art of Insultery

pink-boxing-gloves

Hooray! My soul can scarce contain the spasm
of eager joy. I’m champing at the bit
to prove myself a master of sarcasm
in torrents of unbridled spunk and wit.

I’m on my toes; adrenalin is pumping.
I’ve trained for this painstakingly for years,
and when they ring the bell I’ll come out jumping
to land a sucker punch between your ears.

It took a heap of sweat and dedication
to build an arsenal of barbs and hone
them keenly, lest a sudden altercation
should find me unequipped to hold my own.

Here comes that laced-with-acid verbal blast …
(I’ll think of it the minute you have passed.)

———

cc-by-nc-nd Mary Boren, 2001