Medical Emergency

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The crisis now in medicine
is clear for all to see;
the doctors don't get pens and mugs
from companies for free!
How can they drink their coffee up
if Lipitor reneges --
or write up their prescriptions
on caffeine-deprived legs?
What if the patient must say "Ah"
and Zoloft gets so tight
they won't provide the doctor with
a single cheap penlight?
Who would have thought in palmy days
that companies like Pfizer
would turn around so suddenly
and become a miser?
But hopefully the medicos
will meet this dreadful crunch
with confidence and fortitude
when Merck takes them to lunch.

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Minnesota Ice

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Minnesota may be nice
but we've got a lot of ice
on the roads this time of year;
accidents are in high gear.
Sliding through the old stop sign
makes for an adventure fine.
Salt and sand are laid on thick,
still the roads stay mighty slick
(tire chains would do the trick!)
Off to work?  You'll have to skate.
You'll save gas and lose some weight!
 
Tim Torkildson
St Anthony  MN

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Artificial

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Everything is artificial
in this world today;
sweeteners and butter
and the perfume that we spray.
If it's real it's fattening
or hurtful or expensive --
makes a fella moody
and a little bit defensive.
Wish I had a dollar
every time I bought some fake
eggs and cheap vanilla
in my Twinkie or cupcake.
Those chemicals are lodging
in my body and my hair,
and soon I will be show-cased
at somebody's science fair.
These substitutions bother me;
I think it is pathetic
that all the world aspires to
existence so synthetic.

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Focused on the Locust

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The locust has no manners
and it needs no invitation;
it settles down to dinner
with no thought of moderation.
Everything is fodder
for its greedy appetite,
from the buttons on your jacket
to the string that flies your kite.
Their numbers are enormous
and counting them is vain
as standing in a cloudburst
keeping track of drops of rain.
Nothing known can stop them;
even clouds of DDT
are just an appetizer
for their masticating spree.
I don't know what their purpose is
upon our planet fair.
In that they're like an in-law,
leaving all behind them bare.
I'd rather have the locust swarm
than in-laws any day.
At least the locust will pass on,
while in-laws just might stay!

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Dancing

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I never learned to dance -- so what?
It's just a social skill.
All that movement is a joke;
I'd much rather stand still.
My sense of rhythm is superb;
I'm light upon my feet.
But I don't care to spend my time
sashaying to some beat.
I like music -- sure I do!
You can't call me a prude.
But no Beer Barrel Polka puts
me in the dancing mood.
My conversation is genteel,
my manners are exquisite;
I know enough to change my socks
when I go on a visit.
Dancing is a waste of time --
I've better ways to mingle.
Although, in retrospect, perhaps
that's why I am still single.

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The Light Bulb & the Battery

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The light bulb and the battery
are things I need but never see.
I know I've bought some recently,
but where they've gone's a mystery.
The kitchen drawer yields up to me
some string, toothpicks, and cutlery;
the porch is checked out stoically --
there isn't room to hide a flea.
And my garage is futilely
ransacked unto the nth degree.
So in the basement frantically
I search up high, on bended knee,
but come up with a nullity
of light bulbs and the battery.
Oh, somewhere in this fine country
exists a home, confusion-free,
where dwells a happy family
who's organized so thoroughly
that they could find a single pea
if under mattress or TV.
I wish them all felicity
as my house grows more slippery.

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Free Calendars

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Things are tough, of that I'm sure;
I haven't got a calendar.
Normally by end of year
I've got them coming out the ear.
Everybody gives me one --
insurance agents by the ton.
This year it has been so hard
they haven't sent a Christmas card.
Of course now that I'm unemployed
my interest in the weeks is void.

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My Bedroom Slippers

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My bedroom slippers go way back;
they're scruffy and threadbare.
Everyone who sees them says:
You need a brand new pair!
But I am not inclined to bid
these old friends an adieu;
we saw in Reaganomics
and loved Captain Kangaroo.
At home they always greet me
and caress each weary toe,
and keep my tootsies toasty
when the drafty breezes blow.
They're comfortable, dependable,
expecting nothing great . . .
and best of all they never try
to keep me up too late!

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Gift Wrapping

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The longer that you take to wrap
a present for a child,
the less time it will take them
to rip open it like wild.
We are like that greedy child
who never stops to savor
all the pretty things in life
that God grants as a favor.
Instead we rip and tear apart
sweet beauty in our haste
to get at what we think is ours,
and never mind the waste.
Tear off all the wrapping
and the world's an ugly place.
Better to leave some intact
and wonder in good grace.

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The Impound Lot

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I work down at the impound lot;
it calls for guts and daring.
I pride myself on attitude;
my idol's Hermann Goering.
I love to help the people who
redeem their ancient wrecks
by cheerfully reminding them
we won't accept their checks.
When the temp falls well below
the zero mark, I cheer,
and make the people wait outdoors
for nearly half a year.
I keep no pen or paper 'round
for all these suffering folk.
There is no lavatory
and the pop machine is broke.
The work sure is exhausting
and I need a coffee break
every forty minutes
or I might not stay awake.
I know some people hate me,
tho' I cannot figure why --
I dole out simple justice
(and depression on the sly).
Don't try being rude with me --
your effort goes for naught
because I'll tell you that your car
is at another lot.
My job is so important
to the city and the nation --
helping people use much more
of public transportation!

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FW: from tim torkildson

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The hill was rather timid
as hills would go these days,
but sliding down it as a boy
'twas like a snowy maze.
Our sleds were nothing fancy,
what'er we could afford.
You could get an awesome ride
on flaps of loose cardboard.
Of course we were in snow pants
with woolen mittens, too.
And with a ski mask pulled too tight
we passed for Mr. Magoo.
Somehow the day was brighter,
our laughter sweetly sprung,
the wind a crystal curtain,
when we were oh so young!
A gentle push would send you
down the winding slope,
dodging elm trees on the way --
as least that's what you'd hope.
A patch or two of bare ground
was always lurking near.
It would shred your cardboard up,
and possibly your rear.
Half way down this slalom
we'd often lose our sled,
and bounce and roll to bottom
on hands and knees and head.
A scrape, a couple bruises,
were part of the routine.
Yes, it was tough to be a boy,
but it was never mean.
The sun at the horizon,
orange fading fast,
meant that we were homeward bound,
for Ovaltine at last.
Do kids still go out sledding?
I think that all the hills
have been fenced off forever,
preventing untoward spills.
And cardboard is recycled;
to China it is sent.
My memories are foolish
and I am old and bent.
 

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Roller Derby

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Now I think girls should have some fun
but roller derby's overdone;
they gouge and kick and scream out loud,
which panders to the all-male crowd.
They've more tattoos than Popeye had.
They think themselves real tough and bad.
C'mon, girls, drop the acting please;
respect won't come from all that sleaze.
I'll like you for just who you are --
no need to hanker for a scar.
Hard living will not make you grow,
it only leads down to Skid Row.
My homily's about kaput:
Remember when you play with soot
it won't come off so easily
when you need a good pedigree.

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Those Cut Ups

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I went in for a transplant
cuz my ticker had gone bust --
the surgeon found my kidneys
had begun to show some rust.
Deciding to replace a lung,
the medics also tossed
my liver and intestines
for a very modest cost.
They chopped up my appendix
and they also docked my ears
(Those guys get so ambitious
when they're playing 'round with shears!)
They gutted me so cleanly
I was merely one more sack
that needed filling quickly,
so they started in to pack . . .
Now I'm full of organs
that are gently used, at best.
I am not myself these days;
I feel more like a guest.

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If the Shoe Fits, Throw it!

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A foot in his mouth,
what need of a shoe
when thrown in Iraq --
what good does it do?
It may be size ten
and leather so fine;
it won't change a thing
in policy line.
Next time that you throw
try heaving some sense
at that Texas head,
so blank and immense.

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The Cranberry

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Notice how the cranberry
is everywhere today?
You drink its juice for breakfast
and put dried ones in souffle.
It won't be long before they claim
cranberries will reduce
your weight or maybe help you
in the bedroom get real loose.
How I long for olden times
when it was poultry relish
and not this super duper fruit
that TV ads embellish.
I wonder what they'll dress up next
with banner and balloons?
With modern demographics
I should think it would be prunes.

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Recycle This!

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The best way to recycle
is to use a little kid --
who turns a box to cavern
and old twine into a squid.
They will not charge you money
and when they are through with play
the article in question
will have mostly worn away.
With their imagination
and hands never at the still,
no need to ever worry
about using a landfill.
Don't give your child a present
that you've seen on your TV;
give them a plastic milk jug
to destroy creatively.
Earth would be a greener place,
pollution would diminish,
if we gave our trash away
for little kids to finish.

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Terror from the Closet

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Everybody's got one
skulking in their closet dark,
waiting to spring out at you
to cause a terror stark.
Silent as a viper
and more clinging than a vine,
once it's wrapped around you
your fortunes will decline.
Shapeless and so garish
that it hurts the modest eye;
a fiendish combination
that will make the heavens cry.
People who might meet you
walking down a city street
will shake their heads in sorrow
at unraveling defeat.
What's the foul affliction
I refer to in this rhyme?
That sweater from your children
that you got last Christmas time!

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Ice Fishing

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Now icefishing's a hobby
I will never undertake.
You either must be crazy
or a nature-loving fake.
Sitting 'round a frozen hole
and waiting for a strike
isn't how I want to stalk
the wily Northern pike.
How the perch are laughing
at fanatics turning blue,
freezing off their heinies
while their blood congeals to glue.
Even with a fish house
where the cold abates a fraction
I cannot see anything
that makes it an attraction.
So don't ask me to go out
where the arctic wind don't cease;
but if you get a lucky strike
I'll gladly take a piece.

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Automated Telemarketing

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The automated phone call
from some telemarketer
has crossed the line of reason --
'tis more than I'll endure.
I'm tracking down these villains
whose recorded message plays
on my phone unprompted
while my temper is ablaze.
When I find them, mercy
is the last thing they will get;
I'll muzzle them and take them
to be neutered by a vet,
and then I'll make them listen
to their own recorded swill
'till hell is freezing over
and the devil has a chill.

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Fourth Grade

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Fourth grade science never was
a subject I was good at.
It was something, if displayed,
I gladly would throw wood at.
Math was also rather flat
and always uninviting.
Recess I excelled at --
'twas always so exciting!
I was just a normal kid
who didn't pay attention --
daydreaming of monsters from
some Martian fourth dimension.
Any tests we ever had
were pretty doggone easy --
such as "Name the other dwarfs
with Dopey, Doc, and Sneezy."
But today fourth graders must
be smarter than Sir Newton;
they take tests on everything
from string theory to gluten.
Keeping straight the difference 'tween
a black hole and a pulsar
I think gives those little kids
the makings of an ulcer.

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