My last post leaned toward the heavy end of the see-saw, so as a counter balance, I thought I would write about something lighter. Some of my friends have said this next poem is me in the future. I still think of those folks as friends, that their comments are compliments, that I'll laugh all the way to the sun of my front porch in my retirement, clattering crazy wisdom through my false teeth.
She soaks her false teeth
in the toilet tank
got tired of knocking the danged things
off the nightstand,
picking out grit all day. Besides,
those blue tablets
that keep the bowl so clea
do a beautiful job on teeth.
Porcelain is porcelain.
Saves a little money to boot.
Not much to go around these days
since doctors have me
eating pills like matinee popcorn.
She uses the twelve dollars
and eighty-four cents
saved from spending on denture cleaner
to buy bird seed, gotta put something back
into the world for being in it.
She watches doves swarm the feeder,
draining three inches of seed in one hour,
pecking up bits spilled below.
Curious, she scoops out a handful
from the bag, pours it into a skillet
of melting butter and saute's
for three minutes.
It loosens her up enough
to drop one of her prescriptions-
she doesn't tell the doctor,
it's my body, don't need his permission.
He ain't so smart anyway
if an old woman can cure
her bowls with birdseed.
Every morning, she sits on the porch swing
with her bowl of hot seeds-
sometimes drizzling in honey-
toast coffee, just she and the birds
and the sun
brightening rose blooms.