Monday, February 21, 2005

Selections from "Don't Shoot the Cook"

Don't Shoot the Cook

After some consideration of the menu
You order your selections one by one.
Your server writing down each little detail;
Hanging on each word until you're done.

Aiming just to please you with fine service;
Knowing fully their gratuity
Is dependent on your satisfaction,
They smile and act as pleasant as can be.

Your order quickly place for preparation,
The cook assembles the ingredients.
Knowing full well your anticipation;
Working hard with swift expedience.

Your meal prepared by your precise direction;
Served promptly, friendly, strictly by the book.
So, if it's not exactly to your liking...
Who placed the order?
Don't shoot the cook.


Driving, to some, is a pleasurable chore.
To me, it's a pain in the neck.
Constantly taxing the mental capacity
As down the highway we trek.

Plummeting forward from every direction
To where the paths intersect;
Watching the signs and the bright signals flashing;
Each meant to guide and direct.

Struggling, straining, hoping we've made
The right turns as we try to connect.
Praying to make our intended arrival
Without getting into a wreck.

Yes, driving for some is a pastime of pleasure;
A theory I firmly reject.
But for getting around from point" "a" to point "b",
It's the method I always select.

Hoppy, Roy, The Lone Ranger and Me

I grew up on Saturday mornings,
Sitting tall in the saddle of my t v.
Toting six-guns and riding the ranges;
Just Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.

Always the good guy, standing for right,
Looking for justice, hoping to see
All the villains get busted, given their due;
Just Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.

Many a lesson was learned in my youth
By keeping such stalwartly brave company.
Honor and truth were of utmost importance
To Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.

Who are the heroes of youth today?
Where will they learn what a hero should be?
I long for the days when it all was much clearer
For Hoppy, Roy, the Lone Ranger and me.


What did you say? Please, say it again.
I didn't quite catch the last line.
Beg your pardon? Bad connection?
Oh, now I can hear you just fine.

"I'm sorry. May I interrupt what you're saying?
I have a few thoughts of my own."
So, we listen with passive intent 'til the voice
Becomes nothing more than a drone.

It's not an unusually odd situation.
It's not that we strayed from the norm.
If folks were as good at listening as talking,
They all would be better informed.

Your Eyes

In my youth I struggled,
Looking for the right connection;
Someone who would give and take
My measure of affection;
Someone with compassion
And sensitivity,
Who's gentle understanding
Was meant for only me.
And when I finally found it,
It came as no surprise.
All it took was just one look.
I found it in your eyes.

Breaking Wind

Why is breaking wind so funny?
What makes it such a crime?
Could it be because it comes
At unexpected times?

It sneaks up from behind us
Leaving everyone agog,
And wondering who's guilty,
'Til we finally blame the dog.

We smile and snicker as the humor
Of the moment grows,
Until the scent of guilty air
Comes wafting by our nose.

Nothing is so quick to turn
A smile into a sneer
As someone breaking wind
And proudly grinning ear to ear.


Do you know a cure for hiccups?
I've heard of quite a few.
Everyone I know of
Seems to have a different view.

No one knows exactly
What incites them to begin.
We only know we quickly want to
Bring them to and end.

"Have you tried to hold your breath
And count to twenty?" Didn't work.
"Have you breathed into a bag?"
It makes you feel like such a jerk.

Try gulping down some water;
A full glass or maybe more;
Or have somebody scare you
As they lurk behind a door.

We've heard of oh! So many cures
From every kind of source,
But the only sure-fired remedy
Is to let them run their course.

Deja vu

I've been here before; just know it.
Has that ever happened to you?
To see someplace, to be someplace,
Someplace you've walked into
At sometime in your distant past,
You can't recall exactly when,
But something so familiar
Seems to stir you from within.

It's a scary kind of feeling,
Somehow nervous, yet quite warm;
Something like the calm that hits you
Just before the storm.
It stirs for just a moment
Sending other thoughts askew,
Then leaves you just as quickly.
What just happened?
Deja vu.

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