Man Around the House

Marvin's a man who never
does anything he doesn't have to.
One day, however, to the delight
of Miriam, his wife, he became
useful around the house.

Marvin was a whirlwind,
making wonderful meals,
doing the dishes and laundry,
vacuuming carpets, performing
without complaint all the tasks
Miriam had done without help
for more than 40 years.

One evening, after a sumptuous dinner
and elegant dessert, Miriam decided
to compliment Marvin as he  
stacked the dishwasher carefully
so as not to break her china.

"Marvin, I'm astounded at all
you are doing. I'm appreciative.
I thank you from deep in my heart."

Marvin scratched his head
and kept loading the dishwasher.
Finally he cleared his throat and said,

"Miriam, my energy is temporary.
If you hadn't lost your legs
in that car accident,
I wouldn't be doing any of this.
Once you're back on your feet,
I'm going back to my recliner forever.
And I don't want to be disturbed."

Miriam smiled. She was pleased  
she would get her old Marvin back,
the churl she loved beyond belief,
once her prosthetics arrived.
She wanted to please him again.

"Your legs should be here
in time for Christmas.
Maybe we can go to church.
You can roast the turkey.
Wake me when it's ready.
I want everything back to normal."

Now Miriam knew for certain
her Marvin had not disappeared.
He was just doing his best to be nice,
something he hadn't done
since their courtship after World War II.
He had knelt in the snow
to propose, her ring in hand,
a day Miriam will never forget
and Marvin will never remember.

— Donal Mahoney

The Skinny on Fatty's Cafe

Here's the skinny on Fatty's Cafe,
a grubby diner on a snaky street
under the El in dark Chicago
where street lights flicker
and the hungry descend from
the flophouse above the store.

If you have a yen for a BLT
and Fatty is workin' the grill,
the hungry say don't go in,
be patient and wait outside
for Fatty's brother, Skinny,
to wield the spatula.

Skinny has a way with BLTs,
piling bacon and tomato high
on a triple decker, with a hint
of lettuce and a swipe of mayo
on all three slices of bread.
No extra charge to toast it
when Skinny's workin' the grill.

Ignore the rain, sleet or snow  
and wait outside with the hungry
till Skinny starts flippin' the bacon.
He takes over at midnight when
Fatty flops into his Lincoln
and heads for his castle.
Then Skinny lays out the bacon
and the hungry outside march in.

— Donal Mahoney

That Valentine's Day in Manhattan

You're standing on a window ledge
on the 50th floor of your building.
It's Valentine's Day in Manhattan,
clouds cruising, sun everywhere,

a nice breeze tossing your hair,
the taste of that woman always there.
Do you wonder what happens after
you jump or do you simply not care?

Does God meet you half way down
and say "What a foolish thing to do."
Or does Satan appear and shout
"Here's the Magnus Doofus of my day."

Do you begin to wonder when
you're a foot above the asphalt
whether you'll hear the splat or
do you jump and simply not care?

— Donal Mahoney

We'll Feel Better, Dearie, Not to Worry

Some days my wife has aches
and I have pains.
Other days I have aches
and she has pains.
We tell each other
all about it from our rockers
sipping Earl Grey tea
in tinkling porcelain cups
while watching DVDs
of Lawrence Welk,
the late conductor nonpareil,
who's trying now to get
the Seraphim and Cherubim
to sing "God Bless America."

My wife and I are at an age
where no quick fix exists,
no slow fix either.
Finally I tell her what
neither of us wants to hear:
We'll feel better, Dearie,
not to worry,
once we're dead.
It's the dying
that's a problem but
we're getting there.
Been on the road since birth.
We've paid the tolls.
It's been a trip.

— Donal Mahoney

ANTICIPATION

A seagull bobs across
each choppy ocean wave
as fishermen cast

-- Diane Webster

TREE HOUSE

Boards nailed upper half
of cottonwood trunk leading
to God’s tree house?

-- Diane Webster

TINGLING FELT

Rain on the metal roof sounds
like the tingling felt from a sleeping
foot awakened by change of position,
and blood rushes to replenish tissue
like rain soaking into the earth
to revive dormant roots,
and in the tree a robin chirps
as if it feels the surge of sap
through the branch it grasps
while a mourning dove coos
for its mate eating soggy seeds below.

-- Diane Webster 

INVISIBLE AGAIN

The spider’s web captured
the morning dew
making visible the invisible
until the spider pounced --
shedding the drops
to the thirsty earth below,
invisible again.

-- Diane Webster

Midnight in the Garden of Envy

It's hot in our bedroom this midnight in June.
The air conditioner died but my wife sleeps on.
She spent the day weeding the garden.
I finally decide to open a window
and pray for a breeze.

No breeze but I hear roses and lilies
arguing about which is the prettier,
which of them deserves more space
in the garden to unfurl their beauty,
petal by petal, like Gypsy Rose Lee.

The peonies mock the roses and lilies,
claiming peonies are the prettiest of all.
The petunias along the borders yell
not to ignore them because they're not tall.
Suddenly there's a ruckus among the hibiscus.
They, too, claim they're the most beautiful.
They want more space, as do the hydrangeas.

The roses decide to offer a compromise.
Tomorrow they promise to count
which flower in the garden attracts
the most butterflies and honeybees.
The flower that attracts the most
will be named the most beautiful
and be given more space in the garden  
and won't lose a bloom to bouquets.

The other flowers discuss in a whisper
the compromise offered by the roses.
They take a vote and agree to comply.
Finally, silence returns to the garden.

I tell my wife in the morning to hide out
in the yard with a clipboard to confirm
which flower attracts the most
butterflies and honeybees.
We can't trust the roses, I tell her.
They'll cheat on the final results.

I ask her to keep an eye on the sunflowers
since they didn't join the furor at midnight
over which flower's the most beautiful.
I tell her more butterflies and bees
will visit the sunflowers tomorrow
than any of the others because
sunflowers at noon leap in the air
and kiss every cloud in the sky.
 

-- Donal Mahoney

Getting On

I no longer put things
back where they belong.
I can't remember where
they came from
never mind where
they belong

so if you see me out
walking dogs
you know
cannot be mine,
not to worry.
I still like dogs.

But if you see me out
walking women
you know
are not my wife,
ask them where
they came from

and if it's not too far
and they seem pleasant,
take them home.
I'll compensate you  
for your kindness
and your time.

-- Donal Mahoney

Stalactites and Stalagmites

If you like spicy food
take a seat at Raj's Buffet
and explore the foods of India
beautifully prepared.
Start with aloo baingan,
a rainbow feast of egg plant,
tomatoes, onions, potatoes,
cumin, coriander and cayenne.
The dish is a five-alarm fire  

on the Anglo tongue
but as peaceful as porridge
in Kolkata and Mumbai.
It clears the sinuses
for eternity.
The nose becomes
an arid cave
waiting for a
finger to pluck
new stalactites
and stalagmites
blooming in

the nostrils.
So take a seat
and grab a fork.
Clear your sinuses
and eat your fill.
Complete your feast
with mango ice cream.
At Raj's Buffet, expect
a culinary thrill.

-- Donal Mahoney

Her Trip Back There

You were gone
before you left.
Now you’re happy
you're back home.

I can hear
you singing
in the shower
but I know now

you’re still there.
Make yourself
a cup of coffee.
The kids are still

at school.
They'll be happy
you've come back.
I'll be dozing

in my chair.
We know now
despite your smile
I'm no longer here.

 
-- Donal Mahoney

Lunatic, Liar or Lord

He has to be
one of the three--
lunatic, liar or lord

but don't ask me
which of the three
I know Him to be.

I've known forever
faith is a gift
He alone can give.

"Ask," He said,
"and you shall receive.
Knock, and the door

will be opened."
If I didn't know,
I'd keep asking.

I'd knock down doors
till I discovered
which of the three

I know Him to be--
lunatic, liar or lord.
It's important to know

while breathing.
Find out now.
Not then.

— Donal Mahoney

Without Benefit of Wimple

Covey of nuns
without benefit of wimple

graciously attired
sport coat, turtleneck, skirt

scurry through the airport
IPads swinging

unaware the turtleneck
is their Roman collar.

-- Donal Mahoney

Surprise, Surprise

The mother's dead.
Thirty years later
you meet the daughter
and realize the daughter
is the mother again,
poking her finger
in your chest half an hour
after her plane lands.
The same laugh knocks
folks in the elevator
back a bit.

Every time the daughter
grabs your arm
to emphasize a point
the way the mother did,
you want a ticket
to the Maldives
or maybe Bulgaria.
Sofia in the summer
might be nice.

This time, however,
you stay put.
She found you
on the Internet.
You must admit
the freckles
across her nose
scream she's right:
You are her father.
Surprise, Surprise.
Her mother never said.

-- Donal Mahoney

Recliner Therapy

He's out there again,
my neighbor, the doctor,
waiting for the snow plow
to pass so he can jog
on a clean street.

It's 5 a.m. and we've had
three inches of snow
and it's still coming down
but nothing can stop him.
Doc jogs every morning,

good weather or bad.
This morning we meet
because I'm out spelunking
in the snow and the dark
for my morning paper.

Going through his warm-ups,
he invites me once again
to join him for a jog, an
invitation he extends when  
we meet on dark mornings.

As I have before, I tell him
I know I'll arrive soon enough
in Cadaverville and have
no desire to get there faster.
Months ago, I told him

about articles in the paper
three or four times a year
indicating that another
otherwise healthy man has
dropped dead jogging.

I tell him that's not a good thing.
One of the deceased, I mention,
was a cardiologist like him.
Couldn't remember his name
but he was young too, with kids.

I go on to explain that I am  
a believer in Recliner Therapy,
something I find very beneficial.
I add that I've never heard of a soul
dropping dead in a recliner

though I admit that could happen
but so far I have seen no mention
of such a tragedy in the paper.
Thirty years my junior at least,
this young doctor who jogs

asks what I do for exercise
as he puffs through his warm-ups.
I tell him I push all the way back
in my humongous recliner
at least three times a day

and wiggle my toes, grab
a Kleenex and blow my nose.
I tell him I believe in a
holistic, head-to-toe
approach to exercise.

The snow plow finally passes
and the young doctor chuckles,
hikes up his sweat pants
and jogs off, arms swinging,
through flakes of snow.
 

-- Donal Mahoney

Ballerina

even a ballerina gets up again after she falls...

i want to show her light
but you don't force the cocoon to open
before its time
she's 5'2 and lithe and she always draws
everyone in the room to her
i want to nurture her like a flame
let it burn and
she gets up again
i won't force the cocoon to open
before it's time
i'll just wait and appreciate
her light

-- Erren Geraud Kelly

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From The Tree

 she's finding her voice in words
 like her mom, she never hides her light
the apple never falls far from the tree

 she's a mix of both worlds
 the best of night and day can be seen
she's finding her voice in words

 her mother warns her to be a good girl
 to keep her dress down, not up, but
the apple never falls far from the tree

 life was not meant to be lived standing still
she believes carpe diem is her philosophy
 she's finding her voice in words

 she'll go to the places her mom went
 and hear all the tales men told her mom
 the apple never falls far from the tree

 but she'll find her way like her mother
 a wild child can't be tamed
she's finding her voice in words
 the apple never falls far from the tree

-- Erren Geraud Kelly

Ukelele

  She was a tall woman
  With a little
 Guitar
 The song she sang
 Was god’s breath
 And it lingered
  Through the day like
 A fragrance, like
  Wild strawberries
 Like jasmine
  Her voice felt like waters
 Finally erupting from a
  Rock
  It felt like a cameo
  The song felt like lace
 Against my hands
 The titian-haired girl
 Played a melody given
 From god
 And with her breath
 Gave dream
             to the day

-- Erren Geraud Kelly

Flea market

 She asked me If i was married

  I told her " no"
 She liked my t-shirt
 " JESUS IS MY HOMEBOY "
  She looked like
 She had her act together
 She graduated from Central High, 1984
  I graduated from Istrouma, 1985

  We never ran into each other in town

  She told me baton rouge
  Had changed alot while i was gone

 It got more diverse

 But i kept thinking
  About the first words she spoke to me:
 She didn't ask me what i wanted to buy
 She asked me
  " Are you married ?"

  Yesterday, I told Mama
  " if I wasn't married 10 years ago
 What makes you think
  I'd do it now?"

  I love bachelorhood too much

  But i hedge my bets
  By telling mama

  " If it happens, it happens..."

-- Erren Geraud Kelly