Always a Bridesmaid

April 10, 2023 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

Bad things happen in Lori’s conversations
but not in her real life.

She names all bad things that do take place Brad
after a once upon a time boyfriend failure.

It is in the context of calling certain people Karen
when most Karens are decent folks.

Lori encounters Brad on social media most often
thus does not fear she will draw her handgun.

Her handgun at the bottom of her purse
may as well be at the bottom of the ocean.

Her handgun does not have a name.
It feels Lori’s grip only after mass shooting reports.

Because mass shootings are defined as four or more victims
Lori decides, if she ever has to shoot, it will be no more than three.

Some days Lori thinks a bad thing is finding bullets in her makeup kit
instead of the proper shade of lipstick.

Other days she thinks a bad thing is the angry planet-killing brother
of the meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs.

This fluctuating definition of a bad thing
makes her love life bewildering.

Men she dates have to learn they are ocean yachts
that cannot turn fast enough to face rogue waves.

My Mind is a Ransacked Drawer

November 1, 2022 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

When Lori arrives gravity will be different.
The world will be the same weight.

I read the earth loses twenty-five tons of gases a day
but gains twenty-five tons of space debris.

When Voyager One passed beyond the Sun’s heliosphere
the earth wobbled a little bit more.

For the first time in five weeks
I am not afraid of a meteor slamming into Albuquerque.

The chickens laid more eggs this week
and three of them had green shells.

Bush League

March 1, 2021 ~ Kenneth P. Gurney ~ Leave a comment

Lisa walked over to the park across the street,
carried a can in one hand and a brush in the other
and a hand cloth in her left hip pocket.

She painted a big red X on the grass about half way
from the shortstop position and the bare spot
where the left fielder would stand.

Lisa left a note stating: My prophetic dream
marks this spot to be where a meteor
will strike in a fiery blaze of heavenly glory.

Even with the outfielders and infielders avoiding
the big red X with the superstitious fastidiousness
of a player on a forty-nine game hitting streak,

William, Lisa’s bloop-hitting nephew, increased
his batting average by only four points
during the two weeks it took the grass to grow

tall enough for the park services lawn mower
to clip away all the foreboding.