I hate real life.
It tends to get in the way.
I have important things to do.
Like nap.
Write poetry.
Snack.
But, no.
Real life.
Ugh.
I may nap anyway.
After I write this poem.
Author: kjgilhooly
Home
Almost two long weeks away.
Approach the door,
And let us pray.
Man, it’s good to be home.
Bathed in happy dog spit,
Just watch the floor
For happy dog shit.
Man, it’s good to be home.
Roll the suitcases away.
One thing we can ignore.
We’ll unpack another day.
Man, it’s good to be home.
Tubes
Tubes.
Metal Tubes.
They keep things safe.
Cigars, for example.
My cigar is in cellophane.
Yours is in a metal tube.
Game over.
You win.
So, you would think
A metal tube would be cool.
Not always.
I was in a metal tube yesterday.
Two of them, in fact.
Now, I feel like death,
Warmed over.
If you have a treasured cigar,
Don’t put wings on its metal tube.
You will have a cigar with a fever.
AA 743
A long nine-hour flight to Philly.
The flight crew seems a little chilly.
American uniforms but under there,
Are souls that came from USAir.
There’s a woman crouched in 7E.
She’s annoying all the staff she sees.
If our steward hears another “Sir?”,
He’s going to go United on her.
This flight is long, a Transatlantic,
So all the rookies are quite frantic.
In coach, the lunch was Shepherd’s Pie.
But how many shepherds had to die?
A Desperate Plea
Please.
Let us board.
I want a cramped seat.
I want noisy neighbors.
I want the Hell out of here.
Please let us board.
Truth
It is a long way to Tipperary.
I know that this is true.
We’ve been gone two weeks,
And we’re only in Barcelona.
Least Favorite Ocean
The Atlantic is vast,
The Pacific even more.
But The Sea of Humanity
At the Inmigration line
Is the vastest of all.
Breakfast at Sea
Coffee,
Bacon,
Bacon,
Coffee,
Coffee,
Bacon,
Toast,
Bacon,
Coffee.
Hmm. Rough seas today.
I feel queasy.
Cruise Trip BluesÂ
to the tune of Frer Jaques
Norovirus,
Norovirus,
Not the flu,
Not the flu.
I am on the poop deck,
Looking for the puke deck.
Feeling blue,
Feeling blue.
Norovirus,
Norovirus,
Not the flu,
Not the flu.
Forgot to washy-washy,
Now my tummy’s sloshy.
Feel like poo,
Feel like poo.
Norovirus,
Norovirus,
Not the flu,
Not the flu.
Medical is crowded,
I ate what the crowd did.
Cordon bleu,
Cordon bleu.
Norovirus,
Norovirus,
Not the flu,
Not the flu.
All of us are leaving,
Hope that this is fleeting.
No more spew.
No more spew.
Dire StraitsÂ
The Straits of Gibraltar
Should be quite a sight.
Unless, of course,
You cross them at night.
The lights of Europe
Off your port side in the night,
Africa is to your starboard.
What most people call “right”.
I suppose seeing the lights
Of two continents is romantic,
But I think I would prefer more,
After crossing the Atlantic.
Wondering why Cruise Critic
Is not set all aflame
With furious passengers
Who love to complain.