Thursday, November 24, 2016

Has a virus contaminated my downstairs laptop? Poems: My Own Personal Twilight Zone - Happy Thanksgiving to Members of New Directions

Image result for the man in the high castle

So, I'm on episode two of this exciting series, and figure that while my challah is baking in the oven, I'll watch Episode Two.

Suddenly a message comes on. "We've detected a virus. Call this phone number immediately!"

Would YOU call?

So I shut down my laptop. And guess what, Marcy, it won't turn on.

Oy gevalt. Or oy gevult.

Read the comment I received earlier.

AND, NO, there was no virus. My laptop just wouldn't start for about 20 mins. Like a car with a lazy alternator.

What a time I had making my bread. The dough is - literally - all over the kitchen.

Image result for i love lucy bread  Too much yeast, Ethel and Lucy!

I got out my flat cookie sheets, two of em.

One looked as if it had burned down with a house, so I threw it away and borrowed one from Nancy, across the street.

That's the sheet where I made a huge mess. The egg yolk topping got all over the pan. Don't tell him yet, but I'll ask Scott to clean it for me. He's asleep now.


Tonight I make a challah
with yeast that makes us
rise to the occasion
of our recovery, great or small

The water I add is what we drink
to take our pills, a rainbow of
colors, mine are yellow, pink,
a teeny white one that often drops
on the kitchen floor, the merry

They come in capsules, injections,
round pills and even pills with
the middle cut out like a Weinrich
bakery doughnut

We work as a team. We have phone
greeters who answer those phones
every day of the year
except when they forget

You'll hear the voices of Nick,
Charlotte, Harriet, Gregory,

Meetings surprise us!
Who will be there? Alex?
Briana? Atiyah? Katrina?

Loved ones, I announce,
report to the library in
the back, where the Hodges

Pointing to Ada, whose husband
Rich has stopped running and
now walks at a rapid pace, is
over there, the gal whose smile
lights up the room

And I'll be in the bipolar group
waiting, just waiting, to hear
your story. Mostly I let the
other folks talk.

Dough under my fingernails
tonight, as I listen to
the jazz station and
dream of many things.

May all your dreams come true
on this, Thanksgiving Eve.


And how can I forget Helen, who runs
our Daytime Group? She'll stay late
to confer with you privately and offer
the wisdom she's collected like some
folks collect fine china.

In absentia, Jonathan runs the group.

His passion is art. The good folks
with bipolar are a talented bunch.

Just don't tell a soul you got it
or they may not hire ya!


As usual I took my cheese-
mushroom omelet outside to
eat.... reviewed the troops
who wouldn't cry defeat:

The lantana, begonias and
Gerbera Daisies

Not a soul was on the
street. Where were the
dogwalkers, the purr of
engines going up n down
the street?

Took my plate inside
Scott's and whispered
Are you awake.

Finished my omelet
on the park bench
on his porch. Watched
for Smokey, our
unafraid feral cat

And thought, not for
the first time,

They've finished us off.
Sprinkled venom from on
high - did you see it,
Captain Kirk?

And I am the only
one alive.


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