Tuesday, September 17, 2019

Tropical Storm Imelda - a poem of sorts

Lawrence Hall

Tropical Storm Imelda

As Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet did not say with his dying breath:

No, 'tis not so deep as a Harvey, nor so wide as a
Rita; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve.

Just because a tropical storm isn’t technically a hurricane doesn’t mean it won’t kill your children or you. Use your brain.

Monday, September 16, 2019

"AR-Style Weapon" - couplet

Lawrence Hall

“AR-Style Weapon”

In ‘Nam they jammed with jinx and jump and jerk
But now against children the d*mned things work

Sunday, September 15, 2019

Taking the Pulse of the American People - poem

Lawrence Hall

Taking the Pulse of the American People

I don’t want to take the pulse of the American people, she said

Only yours

Saturday, September 14, 2019

You Had One Job - poem

Lawrence Hall

You Had One Job One Job One Job

You had one job. I mean, really, one job
Just one job, and you didn’t do that job
Right? Right? Just that one job. And you didn’t
You didn’t do that one job, just that one job

All you had was that one job, that was all
Just that one job. What’s the matter with you?
One job. Just one job. One job, am I right?
And you couldn’t be bothered to do that one job

And what was that one job you didn’t do?
                                                                                 STOP IT!

Friday, September 13, 2019

An Old Man on the First Day of School - poem

Lawrence Hall

An Old Man on the First Day of School

Okay, I’m scared. Seventy-one years old
And scared. What if the teachers don’t like me?
What if those old principals don’t like me?
And what if the children don’t like me, huh?

I’m apprehensive about my first day
The librarian likes me, though. She’s nice
She asked me to be there. I’ll shine my shoes
And wear a clean shirt and tie – still, I’m scared

Oh, yes, there’s tension in the atmosphere
For this library reading volunteer!

Thursday, September 12, 2019

With a Side Order of Screaming Child - weekly column

Lawrence Hall

Lunch with Friends 

With a Side Disorder of Screaming Child and Bellowing Mother

Pajama Child, running and screaming: “Bye-bye. Bye-Bye! BYE-BYE! HEY!!! BYE-BYE!!!!”

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “Don’t run, honey. No. Don’t run! I SAID, ‘DON’T RUN!!!”

Pajama Child, standing in her seat and chewing her food over diners’ backs: “Wlb. Glb. Blrt! Uerk! Blye-blye!

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone:: “One…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Pajama Child: “NO! CAN’T MAKE ME! NO, YOU! NO, NO, NO, NO!!!!!!!!”

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “Twoooooooooooooooooooooooooo…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Pajama Child, throwing food: (SHRIEKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!”)

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “NO! I MEAN IT THIS TIME! One………!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Pajama Child, running and screaming around the restaurant: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “Twooooooooooooooo…!!!! I mean it this time!!!! Twooooooooooooooooooo…!!!!!!”


Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “Do you need a spanking? I mean it this time!”

I blame the teachers and Donald Trump. I mean it. No, really. I mean it this time.

Wednesday, September 11, 2019

Genuine Bull Durham Smoking Tobacco - poem

Lawrence Hall

Genuine Bull Durham Smoking Tobacco

He sat on the old board fence, his chair of state
All spiffy in his Sunday-pressed khakis
Though he wasn't much for going to church
And his Other Hat, still a farmer’s hat

With his teeth and his workworn, sunburnt hand
(The other hand somehow mislaid in France)
He played the paper and ‘baccy and tag
Into a censer of sacred sweet smoke

And all us little boys watched him in awe
And hoped for the bag with its little string draw