Saturday, November 11, 2017

Coldest Day of the Year - Poem: Coldest Day of the Year


At two in the morning
I wanted to see what
it looked like

Stood on the front porch
leaves of every variety
swirling, unconcerned

Concerned, I went
inside, and snuggled
under my warm blankets

During the oil crisis
of the 70s, we were
advised to set our
thermometers to 58

Fifty eight!
Now it's the morning
and I have chosen my
hot beverage for the

Iris, my Coffee Maiden,
had sent me pumpkin roast
a good three years ago.

With my heat turned
to 68, I sip on this
still fresh, still
delicious, still

Coffee of all coffees.


My friend Roy O'Riley, a cheerful Irishman, will be the hero of my next short story I'm gonna begin writing in a moment.

Roy, not his real name, has given me ideas, thru his own life, for several other short stories.

Mom called me this morning while I was preparing the coffee and my breakfast, which is my veggie soup with hunks of cheese for protein.

She began with her famous line:  Did you call me?

No, I didn't.

She said she slept with her new hearing aids in. Ellen will remove em later.

Image result for costco hearing aidsLast night I was up until three am, munching on pretzels - the O Ring Style - and raisins and submitting to something called Lit Mag. Marf was kind enuf to review Tucker and the H olocaust Survivor, earlier in the evening, and I sent in five poems plus a short story featuring blood and bird poop.

More coffee, please garcon!


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