Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Playing with words

Cleaned His Attic

I finally got the attic straight,

Took Dad's old stuff away,

The strangest gear they'd ever seen

Was hauled through town today.

Both cameras with their splash attachments,

His painting done in boils,

His bowling saw and fishing sod

And wine arranged in coils.

The weeping bags,

The matched golf tubs,

His torn seat music

And Dad's gold strumpet.

I never understood the rules;

I didn't used to try.

But Daddy must have been a sport,

His memory makes me wry.


I let the beans out of the bag and I spilt the cat!  

I was struck by thunder!

It wasn't my fault!

I don't want to go fingering pointers,

but I was unawares that I was taken.  

I just had to stop and breathe a catch.

Warrior fun

That Herk sure plays a good game!  I checked him into the boards, a good one, too.  But he bounced right back off and flattened me.  I admire the oomph he puts into his blocks and slams.  Remember that time when he hit me so hard, he knocked my shoulder out of the socket?  Boy, he is a good one! What laughs we have! What good times!

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