Monday, February 01, 2021

Food Porn & Intelligent Life

 
—Poetry by Joseph Nolan, Michelle Kunert and Caschwa
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy of Joseph Nolan, Stockton, CA



CHEESEBURGERS, SO RAD!
—Joseph Nolan

It was the biggest,
Fattest, greasiest burger
That ever graced a plate!

Exactly what
My cardiologist
Said I
Should hate.

Oh! but I
Loved it so,
As its cheese
Ran down
In drips
Along its
Double-toasted buns,
Ready for my lips!

Oh! for my lips
And my tongue!
Is there any other
Thing so simple,
Yet so all unsung?

A hero of
The menu,
A stalwart item,
Brung
By many a panting
Waitress
With nylon
Stockings, run,

From some brutal fetish,
Her boyfriend had,
Where he told her
Any really good girl
Must, in truth, be bad!
As he drooled in satisfaction
Over cheeseburgers,
Oh, so rad!
 
 
 

 
 
RETIREMENT ON A BUDGET
—Joseph Nolan

Now that I’m retired,
My social-life oscillates
Between the
Greasy-spoon diner
And the five-and-dime store.

I used to loiter
At the Harbor Bar,
Sucking down cocktails
I can’t afford, anymore.

I shop for clothes
At Goodwill,
Pray at
Salvation Army
And cough up enough money
For somebody’s turkey
When Thanksgiving rolls around.

This is how
Things are set up
In our commercial society
Where hugs used to come
Easy and plenty,
But now have grown far more rare.
 
 
 

 
 
THE NEXT WAR
—Joseph Nolan

When will we light up the sky?
To struggle in darkness
With one blind eye,
A porter,
Wrestling luggage,
While millions of people die?

When,
And if so,
Why?

Maybe because
We were misled?
Maybe because
They wanted us bled:
For billions of us
To be dead,

So the ones
Who would survive
Could live their lives
Fat and rich,
On the fat of those
Left behind? 
 
 
 

 
 
IDENTITY IN AN AGE OF ONES AND ZEROS
—Joseph Nolan

Angels dance
Without bones.
Bugles squeal
In sad overtones.
Fog drifts
Over the bay.
Fishermen
Sail away.

Fog comes in from the sea
Each afternoon
To cool hot summer’s
Scorching soliloquy.

Jazz bands are hard to find,
These days.
We’ve left them behind
To run through a maze
Of passwords, codes
And numbers:
One-zero,
One-zero,
One-zero.

Which are you,
A “one” or a “zero”?
Does your heart
Carry, still, any hero?

Post your pronouns
Next to your picture
Like a label
On a tin can,
To announce your identity,
Your proclivity.
Identify yourself!
So no-one has to sniff.
 
Something is left behind,
While newness
Beckons the mind,
To address the present moment
That has no historical precedent.
 
 
 

 ______________________
 
 
I never thought I’d have to tell two co-workers where I work for Pride Industries
    “Look, both of you not only claim to be born-again evangelical Christians
     but I thought both of you were too smart to be having an affair, cheating on your spouses here—
     Admit it, this has got to be the dumbest-ass place in the world to be doing that!” (mostly making boxes all day)
     I also mentioned to those two other co-workers, Donna and Joe
     Joe’s wife works there too and, like others there, also sees them being openly affectionate with each other
     I’ve frankly been praying that Donna’s man, who probably doesn’t know, somehow finds out
     I’ve heard of situations where either a man or woman happens to pick up their cheating spouse's phone
     Yup, I honestly do pray, for instance, that the guy Donna lives with somehow accidentally takes her phone to work,
      or else has to borrow her phone because his isn’t functioning
      and with that then also checks Donna’s incoming and outgoing calls and messages
      to hopefully end up confronting her, saying something like “Baby, who the hell is Joe?”
      Perhaps that might put an end to such stupid nonsense
      Hell, if it doesn’t, I’ve thought of conspiring with others to send Donna and Joe something at work for Valentine’s Day
      Perhaps the delivery of a cake which says, “Congratulations Joe and Donna” might create embarrassment and shame  


—Michelle Kunert, Sacramento, CA
 
 
 

 
 
CLEARANCE REQUIRED
—Caschwa, Sacramento, CA

that was a nice meal
now it’s time for something
sweet, like a C-O-O-K-I-E

good, she looked up from
her nap but didn’t rise and
demand a queen’s ransom

I guess I’ll need to go O-U-T
and secure the patio chairs
lest the wind takes them

and I’ll need to refill the
propane tank before grilling
the next round of S-T-E-A-K-S

back to sleep, little girl
you’re doing very, very good
we love you so much! 
 
 
 

 
 
ECHO CHAMBER
—Caschwa

how does a man with vile and toxic speech
attract a flock of hard-and-fast consenters?
so quick to raise their voice to high-pitch screech
like when a precious teenage idol enters

four-score-and-seven years ago, Bonnie
Parker & Clyde Barrow were shot and killed
cue the horns and bells, fifes and tympani
John Dillinger, also, finally stilled

it doesn’t matter what they do, at all,
appearance is enough to fully please
they may have never told a tale so tall
and yet their flag will triumph in the breeze

I must admit my love for circus acts,
though not so hot to fund them as a tax 
 
 
 

 
 
CURTAINS
—Caschwa

ACT I

a whistleblower with multiple foreign
connections showed America just how
inept, corrupt, misdirected, and manifestly
inconsistent with our core values a good
segment of our government was; of course
we already suspected most of what he said,
but no one else had yet succeeded in
articulating these sorts of claims in such detail

ACT II

a reality TV star with deep bonding to foreign
dictators astutely concluded that if he threw in
his support to “The South will rise again”
movement, bit by bit, speech by speech, tweet
by tweet, he would amass an army of gun-wielding,
liberal-hating, white-supremacist supporters who
would do anything at all he suggested with no
limits and no reservations

ACT III

the curtain has not yet fully opened under a new
leader who invites us to be more than just an
audience of spectators, but to take active roles
to help restore the balance of power where that
is missing; [insert a generous allotment of
exclamation marks and question marks here] 
 
 
 
—Photo by Caschwa
 
 
 
NO TICKLING
—Caschwa

I’m a bare-bottomed Atlas standing strong
keeping the world in its perfect orbit
thanks to my sure hands, nothing can go wrong
the gibbous moon ahead paints our target

honey, finish up in there, will you please?
don’t you keep playing with that shower head
or I’ll mount it between your spindly knees
stop your damn singing and hear what I said!

now I’ve been demoted, lost my status
space aliens will reclaim Mother Earth
their artillery is aimed right at us
they’d prefer if we no longer gave birth

this is your final notice, finish up
I think I’m going to need a stronger cup
 
 
 
 Buffalo responds to late-night booty call
 
 

Today’s LittleNip:

I believe alien life is quite common in the universe, although intelligent life is less so. Some say it has yet to appear on planet Earth.

—Stephen Hawking

_____________________

Thanks to SnakePals Joseph Nolan, Michelle Kunert and Caschwa (Carl Schwartz) for carrying Monday’s load this morning! Always a pleasure to have them seated around the Kitchen table.

Tonight at 7:30pm, Sac. Poetry Center’s Socially Distant Verse features Diana Medina on Zoom at
us04web.zoom.us/j/7638733462/. Password: spcsdv2020/. Facebook info: www.facebook.com/events/164203151883729/.

Taylor Graham writes: "I’ve started a blog,
Somerset Sunset, devoted to SAR (search and rescue) dogs—and poetry. It’s meant to preserve material from our (Hatch’s & my) now defunct Somerset Sunset website. (A new website is technologically beyond me; a blog is challenging enough.) Here are links (it seems that one works for some people, the other for others; feedback on what works for you is appreciated!):"
 
https://hatchandjudygraham.wixsite.com
https://hatchandjudygraham.wixsite.com/website

_____________________

—Medusa
 
 
 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.

Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world, including
that which was previously-published.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!