New Translations of the Old

Then: mea culpa
Now: My bad

The old chants were Gregorian
Now we meet
them on the street
and wave at a Delorean



If only I could read music


born musical
by choice
the voice
without the aptitude
of scored exactitude
I struggle
as I juggle
with my own ineptitude
but here’s the thing
I still can sing

Daily food

Guzzle
in the muzzle
coffee down
the daily brown

Wait to eat

I could hold out ‘til dinner
and wait
with empty plate
if that would make me any thinner




a discreet
treat
is a cookie
without nookie


we huff
and puff
to stuff
the fluff
until we both reach
just enough




I imbibe myself
as I drink
my ink

Prez
says
I know what you want to hear
so I give you those words of gimme and fear
to lull you into unconsciousness deep
and then we murder you in your sleep




Hey! Hey!
Ho! Ho!
Something something’s
Got to go!
What it is
we all should know.


***