Could I Love You



Would those very pants you are wearing ever seem at home tossed across the bottom of my queen-sized bed? I see myself folding them, yet again, and hanging them up for you. I visualize the laundry basket with our clothes already intertwined within each other’s arms and legs and seemingly happy. Would we be seemingly happy intertwined?

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Thanksgiving Poetry: Turkey, Spanx and Gin

Oh Dear Lord, it’s that time of year
When we’re forced to unite with family dear
They converge upon us one and all
Some whose faces you can’t recall

The kids are scrubbed, waxed and shined
The table is set, the turkey brined
There he stands, your husband bare
“Is this really what I have to wear?”

“YES!” you scream “Now go put it on,
the guests will be here before too long!”
“OK” he skulks, “I hate this dumb vest!”
You hear the knock of the very first guest

“You’re full bare-ass naked and they’re at the door,
Stop wagging your weenie and saying, ‘Go Thor!’
I’m wielding a cleaver with a mind of its own
And Thor might find his two ball buddies gone!”

Why are they here, it’s not even two?
They’re still a million things I have to do
Husband reenters dressed like a freak
You scream “NOT what I chose, NO SEX FOR A WEEK!”

You open the door, endure your first hug
Oh, goody, the dog’s pooped on the rug
The indoor cat has been launched outside
I don’t even care, go find your own pride

People now begin to start pouring in
(Where’d I put that bottle of gin?)
Arrive two hours early? Gee, that’s swell
“Please do come in…” (then go straight to Hell)

The house is full, the food is not ready
Another shot down just to keep myself steady
“How are you, dear, you look so tired!”
“Thanks!” (that cream in your coffee, yeah, it’s expired)

“No, I’m fine, just still lots to do…
I do love that dress!” (now buzz off you shrew)
Finally it’s time to all sit and eat
Only 7 more hours til I get to sleep

Politics, religion, why yes, do go on
Eyes to my husband (you’re mom’s Satan’s spawn)
“Hon, we need some more wine!” please fill my bucket
Before I tell your mother to suck it

I’ve had enough? I should slow down?
Where’s that cleaver, I know it’s around
Time for dessert, I’ll go fetch the pies
Wow, Spanx: I feel nothing above both my thighs!

Oh look dear the cat is outside in a panic
By the size of his eyes I’d say he’s quite manic
He may have smoked a bit of pure meth
Next person he sees will be meeting their death

Oh, look, hon, your mom, she’s taking a ‘nap’
Let me put this dear feline in her vacant lap
“No don’t you dare, she’ll never get through it!”
Guess what, don’t care, I’m going to do it!

The guests are all drunk and they’re not staying here
Call Santa, that douche bag, and get his ass here
Tell him to bring his sleigh and some gin
And make room in the coal bag for your mom to get in

I’ve had it, I’m done, that’s it, no more!
I’m now more exhausted than a three-penny whore
My Spanx are now lodged in places unknown
No dear, they’re not in my erogenous zone!

And no, you can’t help ‘get me out of this shirt
Move your hand from my tits before you get hurt!
Oh gawd, there’s you mom and the cat’s clutching tight
At this point we’re all hoping for an epic cat fight

And what to my wandering eyes should appear
Oh look, how cute, each kid has a beer!
This night is so crazy, I’m now at the point
Screw pumpkin pie, I’m lighting this joint

Thanksgiving is over, another one done
But Christmas is coming, let’s pack and run
The kids, and the cat and the dog will be fine
Just grab me my Xanax and that large vat of wine

Goodbye everyone, we may never appear
If you don’t see us by Christmas good luck and good cheer
All we can say is we owe you much thanks
“C’mon Thor, I need you to dislodge my Spanx!”

Lo!  The holidays are here, there is no way out
Remember: After 3 days they’re all rotten trout
So now I will leave you with words you can preach:

Keep your gin and your Spanx somewhere you can reach!

Thank You To All The Great Dads Out There

My father was not the type of man a child honors on Father’s Day. My father was a heartless and cruel abuser in every sense of the word. But rather than dwell on his heinous treatment of me, I choose to focus my attention where it belongs today – on the real men of the world.

The good men, the good fathers, the good daddies that love their children unconditionally. Some people think that because of my brutal experience with my father that I dislike men or that seeing fathers with their daughters would somehow upset me. I can assure you, it’s quite the opposite. Nothing makes me happier than to see a father and daughter sharing a tender moment or an exchange of love and laughter playing peek-a-boo.

I want to take a moment and thank all those dads who never knew the gift they were bestowing upon me as I watched from behind a tree or peeking up from a magazine I happened to be reading in the doctor’s office or as I sat drinking a glass of wine in your living room with your wife who happens to be my friend. You never knew I was watching along with the little girl inside of me as you were just being a dad – a great dad.

Thank you –

for whispering words of encouragement in her ear so she never hears those of cruelty and anger;

for hoisting your little girl high above your head, flying her through the air so she can feel the untethered freedom of flight and never know bonds of control;

for contorting your body into the most uncomfortable of positions to fit into that tiny chair to participate in the tea party she took so much time planning, arranging and rearranging and nurturing her imagination so doors will open before her instead of imprison her;

for wiping her tears with tenderness after each and every fall and extending your strong hands to uplift and not cast down;

for listening to the tales of her sad and broken heart when the boyfriend du jour chooses someone else to invite to the dance and embracing her in love so she never feels the terror or the strangulation of force;

for taking her arm in yours, walking her down the aisle and placing her hand and your trust into the those of another man, the man she has chosen to spend her life with so she knows true love is sharing in her happiness and not in controlling her destiny.

Mostly, thank you for sharing your world with me and giving me a glimpse of what a real father looks like; what a little girl’s childhood should look like.

Thank you for letting me hear the giggles of delight when you lovingly tickle her little tummy, the squeals of excitement as you squirt bath water on her from her favorite water toy, and for allowing me to see the innocence in her eyes because that for me is the most important.

Her eyes hold no fear toward you, they are filled only with love and adoration for a father that she knows will put her life before his, protect her from all the dragons and boogey men in the world, check the closet for monsters for the tenth time in as many minutes and stroke her forehead as she drifts off into a peaceful slumber afforded only to those children who have nothing to fear.

We, as little girls, grow up learning of the heroic deeds of policemen and fireman, soldiers and conquerors and dragon slayers and beast tamers but fathers, real-life, ordinary dads, they are the real heroes of the world. They are the ones brave enough to cry when they’re sad and strong enough to ask for help when things get too heavy for them to shoulder on their own.

And you, kind, gentle men, are what your daughters will seek out when they go to choose their partner for life – someone that’s a lot like their father, their dad, their hero.