The Blue Bird

little depends

on

twit

ter accounts

even those belonging to heavy

weights

clucking all day like

chickens

I’ve Nothing to Say (a poem that is the “opposite” of “This Is Just to Say” by William Carlos Williams)

You won’t drink

the milk

that’s outside

the microwave

but milk

I certainly won’t

be having

for dinner

I'll blame you regardless

for drinking spoiled milk

that’s gone sour

from all the heat.

Goddess Panacea at work

He spotted the goddess Panacea,

in the superstore shopping for popcorn.

Are you making healing popcorn? He asked.

"No, regular," she said. "Well, with sugar

and cinnamon." But why? He demanded

to know her secret. "I'm watching a film,"

she responded, looking vexed. Will you cure

someone after the movie? "No!" she raged,

"I have a life outside of work, you know?"

And so this is how it happened that she 

punched the annoying man and then had to

heal his bruised lips, which was, not, at all, tough

except this all happened on her day off.

But Not to Boss

Work is a funny word.
But not to boss.
To work off debt,
it's said, you have to go to work;
where working as a clerk,
you work your way up, reach the top.
You work around the snags you come across, 
and working in the office never stop
to work away at them with all your heart, 
till your report's a flawless work of art:
Intense and smart.
But not to boss.
You work out quickly, getting set
to soon depart for work, and yet 
you end up working up a sweat.
It's funny how that works...
But not to boss.
Then there's the "work it in" to write,
which now I'm working into this outright. 
By "this" I mean my poem, song,
which, by the way, I've long
been fond of working on.
But does that count as work?
It's never work, it's said, 
but only if you do 
sincerely love the work. 
But not to boss.