“Now, I’m Gonna Hafta Look Up Another Useless Name, Larry!”

(June 24, 2019)

wonderworded man:

Larry Elder dubs Buttigieg*

“Mayor Peach”, Not Pete!

*(Now, getting ‘Mayor Pete’s’ last name – not Budajudge – correct threw the seven-syllable world count of the second line off by one, and I’m just gonna take the “hit” for slopping writing – or counting!. But that non-Freudian non-slip “Mayor Peach” is just too too! neh?

Mayor Peach was perfect, but, then, Larry Elder knew I would not go say something awful about the reknown scholar and warrior Pete Buttigieg without looking up how to spell his tongue-twister surname. For that, I blame Randolph Elder’s middle son!)

“Tardy Laundry Won’t Even Try (To Do Itself)!” Tanka 2382

(June 25, 2019)

eating book-a-day

good brain-sweat -but now must face

pork roast, collards, beans

while four loads laundry does my

penance* for rain-days delays

*(I could use the can’t hang clothes in the rain dodge, but there’s this electric dryer right beside the clothes wet-beater right beside and the no-need to kneel and slap a wet rock excuse further worsen my plight. That’s why Deity delivered more than one seabag full of skivvies and sundry shorts and shirts, so I could drop unspendable dimes on myself. And, don’t non of you come by toting a laundry drying carousel by the house anytime this – of even a next – life. I’ll just chop a few more twiggy leafy branches on some of the tall shurbs growing around the front door. Only reason I shy from doing the hasty-line-thing route to dry such is three-many spares and the fear that I will strangle J walking about early-dark-thirty looking for where to dump the banana peels.)

“Supposed To Have Been ‘Shrugs’* But Words Change, Neh?”

(June 25, 2019)

small breeze shapes* promise

tonight of rain and thunder

into my oven

*(Originally I wanted to use “shrugs” with the term “small breeze…” but the rest of the words rebelled over playing with such a word and being a part-time (very part, microscopically in fact) pragmatist, I acquiesced. That windup-wine originally read: “into the oven.” If I’m gonna write such I should have to personalize the blame, no? At least that’s what the words said to me the next day. Like new shoes or boots, never assume your foot conforms to the size in the store window.)