I Wish I Could

I wish I could throw like Nelson Mandela and sing like Michelangelo;

I wish I could blow like Lucille Ball and free like the mad Karl Rove;

But, mostly, I just wish I could talk like Johnny Cash.

I wish I could scheme like Mazeroski and speak like the Big Man;

I wish I could scream like Frank Sinatra and swing like Julius Caesar;

But, honestly, I just wish I could talk like Johnny Cash.

I wish I could field like Lindsay Vonn and act like Barbara Jordan;

I wish I could waltz like Pablo Picasso and rule like Justin Tucker;

But, actually, I wish I could talk like Johnny Cash.

I wish I could pound like Mario Lemieux and draw like Meryl Streep;

I wish I could win like Mother Teresa and laugh like Keith Moon;

But, most sincerely, I wish I could talk like Johnny Cash.

I wish I could shoot like Fred Astair and serve like Michael Jordan;

I wish I could think like Jerry Garcia and fly like Babe Ruth;

But, humbly, I want to talk like Johnny Cash.

I wish I could skate like Patrick Mahomes and joke like Albert Einstein;

I wish I could paint like Mavis Staples and kick like Tom Brady;

But, for real, I oughta be able to talk like Johnny Cash.

I wish I could write like Jesse Owens and survive like Carol Burnet;

I wish I could run like Vonnegut and pick like Bill Clinton;

But, don’t you think, wouldn’t it be great if I could talk like Johnny Cash?

I never wanted to dance like Rick Perry or Tom DeLay or Sean Spicer;

And I'm glad I don’t lie like Donald Trump or Richard Nixon;

But I really sue-ly do-ly, honestly and truly, wish I could talk sonorous and deep and big, talk just like Johnny Cash.

“How do you do?”

Photo by Heinrich Klaffs/Creative Commons license

The Brits

Names in British novels. 

So novel.

So British.

So mocking.

So true.

Bathsheba Everdene;

Uncle Pumblechook;

Lord Frederick Verisopht;

Henleigh Mallinger Grandcourt;

The Aged Parent;

Sir Damask Monogram.

Each, alone, evokes all appearance, all nature. Then, hundreds of pages to prove it.

A new classic British novel in five names:

Griselda of Xebec,

Sir S.K. “Silky” Pocketsquare,

Lord George Piggly-Wiggly,

King Kermit Orion Neville Gaitherslather (KONG),

Twitters McRobin.

Save me the trouble.

Fill in the proof.

Eye Fly

My pet fly lives in my eye. Loyal, true, and obedient. So well trained. He (my bias; he may be she) goes where I gaze. Up, down, in, out.

He flies around the room and back on my command. Today, when I brushed N’s teeth, I flew him in and out of N’s mouth and up his nose. 

If I forget who he is, I swat him on my food or flying in the door. I swat air.

Sometimes, he startles me. More than sometimes.

Slowly, day by day, he melts away. Soon he will be gone.

I will miss him.

HE'S BACK!!! FOREVER!