Salted Abraham

There’s a jar of ginger cookies by the door, dear.
I know how much you love blackstrap molasses.
Put your apron on and come and help me —
we’ve a lot of potatoes to peel before
the men come home. That lemonade ain’t
ready yet. There’s sugar in it, but somehow
it never goes sweet. Throw these trimmings
to the old dog in the yard. That yellow one
that always comes around. I’ve given him
a name, though it’s silly — he’d come running
and wagging just the same if I called him
“Rolling Pin” or “Maple Tree,” I know it’s just
the trimmings he’s after, not any of my
patting and naming. But what was I saying?
You’ll think I’m silly, and I am silly, but
I’ve taken to calling that old dog
Salted Abraham. Seemed almost as if
he spoke it to me one day, tossed
his name to me like a ball. Anyway, dear,
don’t listen to me! We’ve a lot of work —
no time for old fools nor old, yellow dogs.


Lucifer, Our Lord of Acronyms

Yeah, that’s me, and half the time,
I’m not laughing out loud. You people
just aren’t all that funny. You know
what’s funny? When you get here
and you think you’re coming to
some exclusive club, and you’re
looking around for all your friends
and you’re texting all your friends
who aren’t here (yet), and then
that’s when I turn up the flames
and the torture machines, and
you drop your phones in my
brimstone pit and I just laugh
and laugh and laugh and laugh.
Swag. Satan’s wishes are granted.
Are they really? Well, yes—I find
that most days generally go in a
predictable direction, in my favor.
Beelzebub rules below. That’s me,
too, and I think you’ll find I’m a
pretty chill guy, once you develop
a taste for my pitchfork. But
you may as well know, if you
don’t already: Once you’re here,
wherever it is you came from,
you’re never gonna BRB.

Does LOL Stand for Lucifer Our Lord?


The Pillsbury Doughboy, Having Shot an Old Lady

I said
and I shot that old lady
in the head,
right on
her gray hair.
I have no hair, only
this chef’s hat,
flat blue eyes
blob hands, feet
stupid neckerchief
a person made of dough
Think of it: I am not
a man. I am not
a biscuit. In the seam
between, I become
angrier until I swell,
burst, in a hot car
in Baltimore City
or some other city.
Maybe your city.

Biscuits for Brains


The Hornet That Stung Suzy and Her Friend

Look, I don’t care if you put a penny
over the sting I left you or not.
Big oaf with your giant flip-flop shoes
and your sweaty, pink arms waving
and your stupid hands slapping.
You and your friend Suzy, always
out gardening when those of us
who live here are just trying
to get our work done—
our horneting, our wasping,
our beeing. In the meantime,
the hornets were attacking Suzy
you say? Got news for you:
That was all me. I’m just
that much hornet, too much
for you and Suzy and all your
penny-hoarding friends.
Tell Dr. Mike I said hello, that
I’ll be seeing him one evening
very soon—very soon, when
he’s out on his driveway, all
unsuspecting, and I’ll be there
readying my venom, watching
for him with segmented eyes.

Copper Pennies and Bee Stings


The Girl in the Poisoned Dress

I always wanted to go to the prom
and Jimmy said he’d take me,
and now we’re dancing to “Evergreen,”
me in my beautiful blue dress
so lucky to find it in the pawn shop
looks like it was only worn once,
maybe by another poor girl like me
the gym looks like an underwater disco
the room is spinning—the excitement,
I guess I’ll remember this blue dress
night for the rest of my life

The Poisoned Dress


The Friend Who Tried to Warn the Proud Momma of Baby Girl

I told her not to put baby girl up on
Facebook in her school outfit,
because the pedophiles and creeps
are everywhere, just waiting for
a picture of your brown-haired,
green-eyed girl. And now,
her precious baby girl is
probably in a bag somewhere,
on her way to South Africa or
Bangladesh—you know,
one of those countries where
they do such things. At 3:00,
she didn’t come out of school
because the sex trafficker
got there at 2:45 with his bag
and a printout of her picture.
$2,500 on a silver cyber platter.
And now, one proud momma
cries for her lost baby girl,
but at least she’s learned this:


Stranger Danger


Huggin’ Molly

I’m Huggin’ Molly,
got my walkin’ hat on.
I’m seven feet tall tonight,
and I’m ready to go lookin’
for little ones who should be
safe in their beds, not out
where some witch/ghost/
professor like me can
hug ‘em and scream
right in their ears.
Fool little ears—I’ve
screamed in so many,
all of those children
just like little rabbits,
thinkin’ they can freeze
and disappear from view.
Well, you can’t hide from
Huggin’ Molly that way.
Maybe from Mama,
maybe from Daddy,
but not from me.

Huggin’ Molly


Orangejello and Lemonjello’s Teacher

You know how they are with their names:
Laquisha and Devontay and all that. It’s
getting to the point where a plain old
Robert or Susan would be a real surprise.
Now, that’s how they can be different,
which I guess is what they’re after.
Anyway, this year I have twins in my class
named Or-AN-juh-lo and Le-MON-juh-lo.
Here, I’ll write it for you so you can see it:
Orangejello and Lemonjello. I know!
Couldn’t you just die? It’s all I can do,
keeping a straight face when I call roll
or when I have to write a note home.
But it gets worse. Their mother’s name
is Fuh-MALL-ee. I’ll write that one, too:
Female. And I have to sit there and pretend
these children have any kind of future;
I have to waste my time on people
with those kinds of names. Someday,
Orangejello will be on welfare with
her four children, and Lemonjello will
get shot and they’ll all cry about it
and protest. I’ll be long gone by then.
I plan to retire next year, get out while
the getting’s good. But enough about me—
how are you? And are we ready to order?

Funny Names


Charlie Charlie

My name is Charlie Charlie
I was always called it twice
when I was alive and now, too

You can call me any time
with your two pencils
a piece of paper and

whatever you want to ask
and I’ll answer you
I’ll come and play with you

on your piece of paper
Charlie Charlie
yes I’m here

Internet Sensation and Possible Demon Charlie Charlie