The Perfect Moment in a Week

Miserable Monday,
to an amiable after,
Wednesday's half-decent
and Thursday's okay.

Thursday night, however,
leaves me feeling superb:
Almost better than Friday, Saturday and Sunday combined.

Peanut Butter

There's a struggling class war going on.

It's happening here! In OUR homes!

At this very moment!

It's a protein-rich clash, full of flavors, 

and mingling consistencies and it's hit

dire straights people. It's come to war.

Nobody knows when it started,

who threw the first blow,

when the first battle was fought,

or even who won, 

but nobody can deny its necessity. 

With the feeling of inferiority fueling one side

and stubborn pride the other, both sides, incapable of retreat,

have formed a sticky gridlock of grinding teeth

with hatred to spare.

It hurts to talk about

but I'm always seeing results of the conflict,

and the tireless struggle is enough to drive me to tears,

because:

To end it would be easy.

All it would take is some compromise.

All it would take is some understanding,

and some trust...

but if my mom just thinks she can keep buying 

creamy, she's dead wrong.  

 

In my House

When you're entering my house:
be sure to take your shoes off at the door.

When your're entering my house:
you must make it your goal to not get mud on the floor.

When you're entering my house:
the cheese and meat platters are indefinitely stocked.

When you're entering my house:
the window on the veranda is never locked.

When you're entering my house:
the band plays at two in my brand new garage.

When you're entering my house:
imagine a post-industrial-bachelor-beaver-lodge.

When you're entering my house:
don't touch the vase, it's insured, and I'll sue.

But you're not entering my house:
because you didn't take off your shoes.