Tag Archives: poetry

Treadmill Lament

Requires agility just to get to

Requires agility just to get to

There you stand in my crowded garage
Between plastic bins and file cabinet lodged.
Chrome and rubber and plastic
whispering promises of a body fantastic.


“Walk! Run ! Jog!” I hear you call from afar.
“You spend too much time sitting in the car.”
So I pull on a t-shirt, the Nikes I lace
Step on the rubber mat, gonna make my heart race.


To pass the time, I watch Bones on Netflix
My inspiration some skinny young chicks.
I adjust the speed, faster, and faster I go
Getting into the rhythm of the treadmill flow.


 Look at me!
I’m trying to burn today’s calories.
But the meter reads only one hundred and three!
Heart pumpin’, calves burning, startin’ to sweat
Probably haven’t even  burned off my latte I bet.


Time is passing sloooooow
and I’ve got no where to go.
Faster. Slower. Flat or incline
Minutes passed–only nine!
Don’t watch the clock!                                         securedownload
Pretend you’re a jock!
Forty minutes later, the torture is complete.
My legs hurt, got blisters on my feet.


I’ll see you tomorrow, I promise the treadmill
And, you know, I probably will.
But maybe the next day, or the day after that
Cause I really do have to lose some of this fat.


I write this bad poem in fun and in jest
 But I actually do my very best.
 Just wish there was an easier way to stay svelte
then to walk-run-jog on a big rubber belt.


The Refrigerator Blues

I got the cool–
those dual
Refrigerator blues
 Cuz, it’s true
I need to own two.
Twin places to keep yesterday’s stew
Double the storage for food that’s new.
Two times the space to fill with Tupperware
Of dinner leftovers or restaurant fare.
Mexican fajitas, Chinese take-out
Korean barbecue, half a jar of sauerkraut.


Limpy carrots, a rotten Portobello mushroom
This 2nd fridge is nothing more than a cold food tomb


Bottles of water and two cans of beer
are  carelessly shoved to the very rear
To make room for one pizza slice
 A carton of eggs and leftover rice.


The boxes, the cartons, the plastic wrapped food
Remain there quite nicely, until I’m in the mood
To clean out the 2nd fridge in my spare time.
Then, oh, dear, who knows what I might find!


Out of sight, out of mind,
That’s the well-known rhyme
If only I could remember just what’s inside
Before it rotted, dried out, or died
I would be ever so thrifty and clever
Knowing what I bought, forgetting never!


Then it hits me! It does! As I write this sad verse.
I pull the phone from out of my purse.
I open the fridge door, snap a picture, it’s true
Now I won’t have to guess, I will have a clue!
Once a week, I pledge, the photo I’ll update
The leftovers will be saved from their horrible fate!


In fact, that gives me another idea that’s grand
For trips to the store and super-sized land.
The insides of both refrigerators will I with camera snap
Then I won’t fall into the “do I have that” trap.


Riddle me this:
How can both refrigerator and pantry be stuffed with food
but Hubby and kiddos say we have nothing to eat?

freshest food is behind fridge door #1

who know what lurks behind fridge door #2

Related Posts: Treadmill Lament; My Closet; Wanted: Food Fairy; Gadget Girl; Smokin’ Good Times

Ode to Stilettos

Fabulous, beauteous stilettos perched on display
 I would for you, give up most of my pay.
Studded or suede or patent or shiny
My feet would look ever so sleek and so tiny.


A pencil thin heel, a pointed toe
If I bought you, just where might I go?
There’s that new bistro that’s too trendy and hip
except I don’t have enough cash for the tip.


I might make my coworkers jealous as I strut around
But with  5-inch heels, I would sit mostly down.
 Feigning a high fashion model’s cool attitude
I’d be pouty and sexy and a little bit rude.


With chic stiletto dreams, I hem and I haw
There’s so high, it’s possible I might even fall.
Do I care? No! No! These shoes are a must!
I know they won’t sit in the closet gathering dust.


Nothin’ says fun like a heel that’s sky-high
And every girl knows they catch a man’s eye.
I purchase the footwear for the life I wish I had
And that’s not so bad…
As long as I am still stiletto clad!
They'll go with EVERYTHING!

They’ll go with EVERYTHING!

OK, OK, I know it’s a bad poem, but there’s a novel link. In The Merkabah Recruit, the heroine has a closet full of sexy shoes she never wears–and her sister is always “borrowing” them.


Related Links: Don’t buy me candy; Treadmill lament; The Refrigerator Blues;