Perusing the news of loathsome cowboys

and cowgirls enmeshed in salacious,

lascivious, and diabolical warfare,

I try to thrust molecular jocularity

in the air hoping billions of global citizens

will airlift Nigerian girl out of harm’s way..


My older honeyed spouse going on ninety

is echoing in his tattered apricot recliner

that he’s “going down the tubes” even

though I gave him his daily heart pills

downed with java and aqua as he gasps

with his stuffed green teletubby tucked

snugly on his unsteady cardiac.


Now here’s where the frivolous tune

comes in capturing my waywardness.

I glance now seeing my mate’s breath

still with me while he’s doing his crosswords.

A new washer and dryer arriving this morning.

I will do a load and soon take him to a casino.