God rest ye merry
gentlemen? I don’t see them
lifting a finger!
Gentlewomen’s lament
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God rest ye merry
gentlemen? I don’t see them
lifting a finger!
God rest ye merry
gentlemen? I don’t see them
lifting a finger!
Sometimes, the hunger
that compels you to eat a
cookie is sadness.
The house of my heart
is white, clean, pure. No windows,
doors. No visitors.
We bring it home, put
it on life support so we
can hang ornaments.
TV’s “Fisherman
and His Wife” story for our
times. Unalloyed greed.
Two tribes – In-laws and
Parents – force you to over-
eat, then watch TV.
On weigh-in day I’d
inhale helium if it
would make me lighter.
Inertia roosting
inside me like a hen un-
willing to lay eggs.
My daughters watch the
Gilmour Girls non-stop, wishing
I were Lorelei.
Why this ache, an itch
no hand can scratch, a splinter
no tweezer can pull?