Thursday Writers Group Comes for Dinner - POEMS: The Extreme Heat in California - Whistle Through the Grass - It's Official: Your most important food

THE EXTREME HEAT IN CALIFORNIA

Dedicated to The Rain God

Few folk are from around here
We all move from what we call
Back East.

Moved out here to become
a movie star. My friends
back in Savannah said,
Maggie, we'll never forget
your performance as
the librarian in
Seventy-Six Trombones.

Go ahead and laugh, if you
want to. In California
our mouths are so dry
we can't even spit.

I'm doing my part
to summon the
storm clouds.

That's me with my
raggedy undyed hair
sitting in the
still chill
Lowe's Twenty Seven.

I'm up in the projection
booth with Sam, praying
my heart out to
Q'uq'umatz,
the Mayan god of the rain.

Lying down on the floor
littered with popcorn
and Ju-Ju-Bees
the Prophetess
at Adelphi
says it will work.

***

WHISTLE THROUGH THE GRASS

The furry bristledown moving object

in the back yard is a groundhog. It

goes by many names. Woodchuck has

a nice ringtone to it but my

favorite is the whistling pig.

Am sure the Lenape savored the

tender meat, maybe even preserved

them as little round coins over

our snow-covered winters.

Our groundhog travels alone.

A baby, she got separated

from mom, who may lie covered

with flies in the middle

of the road.

Would our baby survive

sans maMa? She did. She did.

She travels low to the ground

and like a hoover consumes

everything in her path.

Clover, dandelions, and

sleeping fireflies, which

going down her gullet

blink on and off, on and off. 

Newest pic of Sister Lynn, Nana to her daughter Jade's Kaia Rose.

 My pumpkin chili was simmering for hours. When it was done I went upstairs to work on Letter to My Dead Husband. They liked it very much but had a couple of good suggestions.

 Lori drove her red car here with Marlene, below, in the car.

 Linda Jones gave her insightful critiques to Lori and me while helped by Richard Parker and Pal.

Lori brought two poems. One was about a female cardinal who kept crashing into the living room window, assaulting her reflection.

Tonight I ate at Dan's. I brought the remainder of my chili to his house and left the damn remains there. They'll throw it all away.

As I drove over, minding the Edge Hill Road detour, I was feeling simply terrible in the car.

Why? My sugar was low. I had failed to do what my diabetes educators told me to do. KEEP my glucose tabs handy so I could easily reach them.

Just took c/o it. Put the tabs into an empty bottle of prednisone and tucked it into one of the many pockets in the car.

Which one! Which one! As I pass out on the side of the road.

These painted Styrofoam boxes need to be hung up dans le living.

IT'S OFFICIAL
YOUR MOST IMPORTANT FOOD

If you haven't read about this
you are probably in the memory unit
of an old age home or following
your bliss on the edge of town

Extra-virgin olive oil protects
against Alzheimer's disease. Too
late for Gramma Lily who lived,
without a mind, until 98.

According to Professor Pratico
olive oil reduces brain inflammation
and gobbles up debris and toxins
that result in those famous
atrocious plaques.

The town crier will be coming down
your street. I see him now at the
blue house on the hill right across
the street.

Not only have I heard the news, but
I have taken heed.
Although olive oil and I have been
pals for years, I have now added it
to my morning coffee, aleady spiked
with O J.

After doing so, I thought,
Oh no! What if it sucks?


It don't. Not at all.
I don't expect you to
try it. Just use the
olive oil. I use
Tunisian to help
small businesses grow.

SEE YOU NEXT TIME!