“I’m too ired”

“I’m too ired” said the child,
using the day’s last bit of energy.
“I can barely crawl to my bed tho’ it’s in sight
and prop one eye open for my story.”

“I’m too ired for bathing and bubbles
I’d rather go to bed grubby.
Skip the scrubbing, go right to snuggling
I’m too ired to even say the T.”

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What is IT?

What is IT? It’s hard to know.
To know IT, you must listen close.

Like when someone says they’ve got IT,
does it mean they understand?

You may yell “I’ve got IT!” when you’re catching balls.
Or are you warning others you may have caught a cold?

So many meanings for one word,
it’s no wonder other languages think we’re mad.

They will surely lose IT trying to understand.
You’re wondering now if I will get to IT

Or if I’m very with IT,
to write a poem about IT.

Has someone already done IT?
What a silly concept, to write about IT.

Well IT is lots of things,
as luck would have IT.

Refers to anything,
that’s the size of IT.

This is lots of fun,
isn’t IT?

Granny Rally

Photo credit where credit is due.

Photo credit where credit is due.

Here’s the final, kid-approved version, from a previous post entitled “Look Who’s at the Rally!” I had to get through my almost 8-year-old editor.

Granny Rally (Take 3)

Ladies and gentlemen get on your feet, in comes the granny rally!
They’ve come from miles and miles, ready to ride, Cadillac style
Line ’em up and watch ’em go, those V8’s will put on a show.
Now they’re off, sharp turn ’round the bend, rev it up and back again.
Grandma Elsie’s in the lead, but Grandma Cathy is looking mean
Coming up from behind, she zips in front, doing fine.
It’s Grandma Cathy for the win, with family cheering, she takes her spin.

Granny Rally Take 2!

Please see edit notes and redo below. According to my editor, this was all wrong.

At the hot rod rally,  cars with chrome are right at home. Exhaust pipes fire, squeallin’ tires. Gears turning, rubber burning. That’s the usual fun, but look out muscles, you’ve got competition.

Move aside and part the seas, in comes the granny rally! They come from miles, all Cadillacs and smiles. Silent and stealthy, looky there it’s Grandma Elsie! Line ’em up and watch ’em go, those V8’s will put on a show. Lots of horsepower and a cushy seat makes grandma’s ride the one to beat!

August 18 late pm: I was told by my son this was all wrong. Apparently I should have left out any reference to the hot rod rally. He asked me what all that zooming vrooming was (i.e. tires burning etc. – hey I’ve never used i.e. and etc in the same sentence) and shook his head with a pregnant pause, (quite a long pregnant pause). He said it should have been just the granny rally, with descriptions of obstacles in their course, and their families cheering them in the stands. He said the ending just dropped off and I should have made it a gradual decline and announced his grandma’s win at the end. OK, I’ve got some work to do. Granny Rally is an idea I came up with after attending a rally in our town. Those Devilles are everywhere, and they are serious cars. My own Mom has one and let’s just say she’s safer in it than those around her on the road!  He thought it was a hilarious idea and we’ve been joking about it for weeks. So, here goes (ZZzzzz I want to be sleeping!)

The Granny Rally (Take 2)

Ladies and gentlemen get on your feet, in comes the granny rally!
They’ve come from miles, ready to ride Cadillac style
Racing for their families who’re packed in the stands abundantly.
Line ’em up and watch ’em go, those V8’s will put on a show.
Now they’re off, sharp turn around the bend, through the bumpers and back again.
Grandma Elsie’s in the lead, but Grandma Cathy is looking mean
Coming up from behind, she’s zips in front, doing fine.
It’s Grandma Cathy for the win, with family cheering she takes her victory spin.

I’m sure I’ll be sent back for more editing, but we’ll see what he thinks in the morning.

I Can’t Buy 55

“Are you at least 55?” she automated.

“What?” I think, I stutter. Maybe it was out loud, I don’t know. I have never been asked if I’m in my fifties. Until just a few years ago I was asked for my identification to enter bars. I am 42-years-old. Before I allow myself to be offended, I allow my senses to register the flat tone with which she delivered the offending question, the blank stare. The setting, The Dollar Store. We are buying a $1 dollar toy, my 7-year-old son and I.

“What?” I implore, my senses stunned, now recovering. I focus my gaze on her face, searching. Is it an automatic question at the Yankee Dollar Store? Do I appear older than I am? For a second I realize she looks older than she should for a young girl, the years of a hard life reveal her future. I am detective, seeking information, some bit of rational thought to lessen the blow of this devastating question.

“Are you at least 55 years old?” she repeats. My pride hastily answers for me, “No.” With that information she is able to proceed and turn her attention back to the mechanics of completing the sale. I would say she turned her eyes away from me, but it would be more apt to say they just fell away, eased back into their listless stare.

“Wait,” I command. “Is that for a discount?”

She glances in my direction, a barely perceptible confirmation that yes, she is offering me a senior discount, and I can see I’ve caused her great discomfort to look back at me. She was thinking about her own life troubles, her job at Yankee Dollar, how many minutes until her next cigarette break. She does not perceive me or my youthful vigor, she is unseeing.

“I should have said I am…at least 55-years-old,” I offer, cheerfully. The confusion on her face tells me this is not a joke she gets. There is a half-question on her face, the semblance of confusion in her now inwardly turned eyes. It does not take much to make a turtle hide in its shell. I release her from this state by explaining I need to shop with an older friend to get the discount. I crack a smile, she completes the sale.

I realize I would have just sold my pride for a discount on a dollar item. Oh well, next time.

Grow Up

When I grow up I will not sit too long talking at the table.
I will get a candy bar in the grocery checkout
and eat cake before dinner.
I will sweep the dirt under the rug instead of getting the dust mop
and stay home from school sometimes.
I will watch cartoons instead of news.
When I go on a trip, I will run to the beach and unpack later.
If I’m enjoying a book I will stay up and enjoy it.
When I grow up, I hope I don’t.
What will you do, when you don’t grow up too?

Poison Ivy

Don’t go in there, you’ll regret it
that patch of bushes is deadly
ask anyone who’s had the rash
you’ll be praying quite steadily
At first you’ll think it’s fine, no need for alarm
‘Til your ankles spring itches
all the way up to your arm

Don’t go in there, you’ll regret it
That’s what they said,
I went in and that’s how I got it
from the soles of my feet to the top of my head
First it starts a itchin’ and then it starts a oozin’
Your ma will say “Don’t scratch it!”
But you can’t stop thinking ’bout it or keep your hands from movin’

Don’t go in there, you’ll regret it
that’s what I say
even with overalls and work boots
think twice before you go play
You’ve got to believe me, my carefree days are through
Now I’m twitchin’ and red fever blisterin’
Don’t let it happen to you

Don’t go in there, you’ll regret it
I’ll tell you the whole sordid story
Wait a sec, I just lost my ball
Hold that thought, it was just about to get gory
I’ll just run into the woods a bit and be back in a hurry
I’ll need to sit on it to tell you the full story.