My Old Testament
Samson said I dig my dreads
my braiding ain’t bad too
babes hang like grape vines
trying to comb on through
Noah said I love to paddle
my boat can only hold one
talk to God or God to me
seems chartering much more fun
Eve said I dig this garden scene
love planting plants and trees
something‘s missing here about
maybe I’ll negotiate birds and bees
Jonah said ain’t fishing a blast
my rod and tackles the best
think I‘ll skip deep sea trolling
give the holy fresh water a test
Moses said I’m a chiseling fool
my chipping really does rock
so tired of making idols and such
maybe I’ll give writing a knock
Esther said I got dreams and goals
but I need to make a career move
i got a position that give me clout
but first my parents must approve
David said my arm in a sling
threw it out a skipping stones
just got to find me better way
of making my ripples known
Salomon said loved splitting wood
I know i could do a cord a day
figured to make some righteous cash
just need to keep the moms away
Rahab said i’m turning some heads
this old profession pays off some bills
maybe I should take some others in
then those damn collectors be still
Reynold said got stories like those folks
god graced me some writing time
but if I want to say a lot more
better learn to write a better rhyme
09.02.2025
Bit
I heard the joke
It was told well enough
But I didn't even smirk
Couldn't give that much
My smile has value
And I hold it hostage
My mouth is so protected
Youd think my teeth were caustic
A chuckle never sounds
My head wont be thrown back
You can try your hardest
But you won't hear my laugh
And you walk straight up to me after the set
“Can I ask you a question?” You say not in jest
“Why so serious?” And i reply “Oh Honey…
Its nothing against you, I just dont think youre funny.”
Lighten up
I sent it as a joke
The kiss just a poke
I said I was just having fun
But I think you came undone
Everything with you is always blue
Sometimes I wish I had a clue
When I close my eyes I see red
I think of you laying in bed
It’s always something illness pain
If these are lies what do you have to gain
How can I make you laugh smile
Why should I go that extra mile
I told you I cast a love spell
To make you love me as well
I said it to be funny
You didn’t even say it was punny
Why are you serious
It really makes me curious
What is wrong with you
What am I supposed to do
Based on a True Story
My daughter was born with the look of someone who knows she's the only competent person in the room. Serious. Stoic. Always assessing the situation.
I tried singing to soothe her but it never worked. One evening when she was particularly disapproving, an episode of Band of Brothers came on. The sounds of gunfire and chaos calmed her instantly. War was her lullabye.
This became the go-to solution. Whenever my 6lb bundle wrapped in pastels started to give a grizzled scowl, we'd play a war movie and she'd be satisfied.
I began to wonder, was she some 4-star general reborn to finish a mission? I felt sure she'd seen combat in a past life.
So when we were grocery shopping and she gave me that look, brow furrowed and a thousand-yard stare, I knew a mission was inevitable.
That's when it hit me. She'd unleashed chemical warfare.
I stared at her in horror. She locked eyes with me in a no-nonsense stare that said it all. "You have your orders.”
I snapped to attention, the driver to her tank commander. We swerved past civilians like we were dodging landmines. I crashed into the restroom under imaginary fire and found the fold-out changing table. It hung crooked having seen its own unspeakable battles.
I laid my little commanding officer down, one hand keeping her steady, the other prepping a wipe like I was defusing a bomb.
She silently watched me struggle with that same grim expression she’s had since birth that says, “We’ve lost good men out here, Mother. Hold the line.”
I braced for destruction....
Nothing. Pristine. Clean as a freshly pressed uniform.
She smiled. A smug grin knowing her first psy-op was a success.
And that's when it happened. Her FIRST laugh! She wiggled victoriously as it bubbled out of her, delighted that her new recruit fell for the oldest trick in the book.
In that moment, I realized: My daughter isn't just serious. She's serious about winning.
God help us all.
Dr. Treeknuckle
I had been having some unusual urinary symptoms lately, so I made an appointment with the only urologist in town, Dr. Holden Treeknuckle. I laughed to myself at his name, but I knew that wasn’t very cool, so I dismissed such insensitivity to pursue what I needed for my health.
His office was simple, but it was clean. I approached the desk.
“Hello,” I greeted the receptionist, “I have an appointment.”
“So you do,” she replied.
“You know, with one of the ol’ pecker-checkers,” I joked. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’ve heard that one?” I asked her. Obviously, she had, ad nauseam.
“Heard ’em all, funny guy,” she said curtly. “Pole Patrol, Wang Gang, Dong Throng, Dick Clique, Peter Treater…should I go on?”
“No. I get it. Sorry.”
“Yeah, it gets old fast.”
She handed me some papers to sign. I noticed they were on yellow stationery, which I pointed out to her.
“Yellow? Dr. Treeknuckle have a sense of humor does he?” I asked.
“Really? Now, with wee wee jokes?”
“Wee wee? Is that what you call it?”
“No. We’re professionals here,” she told me in a scolding monotone.
“Of course. Sorry, again.”
I signed them in all the right spots and was invited to take a seat; and, presumably, to shut up.
After about a half-hour, a professional-looking man came to the door. He had on a starched white coat. So, we meet, I thought to myself. Dr. Treeknuckle didn’t look anything like I expected. He was young, and he was—quite handsome—if you really want to know. I mean, I’m heterosexual, but I know when someone’s nice-looking when I see it.
He led me down a corridor until he directed me to go through the third door on the right. I did.
“Please, if you would,” he instructed me, “take everything off and put on that gown.”
“Everything?” I asked.
“C’mon,” he chuckled, “you know the drill.”
“I suppose so,” I admitted meekly. This was because the drill, I realized, was going to be his finger up my ass.
Prostates are like that.
“I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Will that give you enough time?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, certainly,” I answered.
Those gowns. Ridiculous things. Making your ass hang out of the back, with fastening tie ribbons impossible to fetch around your back. Still, this was what I needed. I wanted to nip any small problems in the bud before they grew into bigger ones, or—worse—unsalvageable ones.
With my clothes folded ever so neatly on the chair, I hopped up on the exam table, tucking the runaway open gown edges under me to keep the whole affair closed.
I waited.
Finally, after about ten minutes, there was a knock at the door. I grunted my approval and he peeked back in.
“Ready?” he asked. I spied the latex glove he was holding in one hand, the tube of KY jelly in the other.
“Sure,” I responded.
“OK, then. Hop off the table and stand at the end of it, facing forward. Yeah, that’s it. Perfect. Now bend over, please.”
I did.
I knew what was coming. But I also knew that in just a moment I would be dressed again and on my way out of Dr. Treeknuckle’s office, with peace of mind.
I bent forward onto the end of the table.
“Please spread your cheeks for me,” he requested. With my own hands—because I would wonder about the exam if I knew he was using his own two hands to do it—I did it.
Then he did…
It.
It’s a milking type of massage motion that renders a feeling as strange as no one could conceive. I was glad to be getting it over with.
He lingered, digit-in-ano, however, for what seemed like an inappropriate period of time.
“How ’bout those Knicks!” he said, making polite conversation decidedly away from anatomy, glands, or orifices.
“Yeah, they’re something,” I grunted. “What’s taking so long? Did you find it?”
“Oh, I found it alright. And it’s a beauty! It’s just that I’m stuck. I can’t get out!”
“Really?”
“Nah, I’m just messin’ with you. Ha!”
“Ha!” I agreed, begrudgingly.
Then he was out. I heard the snap of latex behind me and I knew the glove was off. It was over. I had persevered. It hadn’t really been all that bad.
“Thank you, sir,” he chirped in a friendly tone. “That’s all for me right now. So, just stay here and wait a little longer. I’m sure Dr. Treeknuckle will be coming to see you in just a few.”
“Wait!” I blurted, but he was gone. And Dr. Treeknuckle seemed angry when I told him. He opened the door and hollered to the receptionist.
“Call goddamn security. He came back again.”
“Christ!” the receptionist hollered back.
“Who?” I asked. “Who came back again?”
“Oh, just my former physician’s assistant. We had to let him go for all of the obvious reasons. But don’t worry,” Dr. Treeknuckle added, “he’s trained and all. He knows what he’s doing.”
“That’s good to know,” I said.
“At least we don’t need any more KY. Bend over please, if you would. And how ’bout them Knicks?”