Diamond of Jello
From my stool in the diner I watch
the old woman with elm tree arms
command the big booth in back
and roar for a menu,
take a half hour to read it
before placing her order.
Watching her eat, I realize
life for her is a dollop of whip cream,
a twirling ballerina, on a diamond of Jello.
I raise my water glass
in a silent toast. Bravo, I whisper.
I wish her good cheer.
Right to Flow
One day the faucets of the world
became irate when people
turned them off too tight and so
they chose to drip in anger,
a cacophony only they could hear.
When their demonstration ended
water flowed out the windows,
down the streets, flooding villages
and cities everywhere, a tsunami
sweeping everyone away.
No faucet could refuse to flood.
They have a union now, you see.
Family Picnic
You’re not normal.
You never were.
Even in kindergarten
the nun had to call
your parents about
the way you ruined
worksheet after worksheet
putting spots on zebras.
You hated stripes.
Now miles into the jungle
of your dotage, why grouse
about family coming to town
wanting to go on a picnic
before the night game.
They're only being normal.
They have no problem with ants
peppering the potato salad.
Why not tell them yesterday
the doctor said you have gout
and you plan to watch the game
on TV in your recliner,
foot propped. Maybe you'll
see them in the stands while
the Cardinals pound the Cubs,
something as certain as
the Second Coming, something
the kids from Chicago already know.
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.
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