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She can’t stand her. He’s
her ex, so don’t include them.
Can’t we go alone?
An adult blankie.
To take one from its owner
will make grown men cry.
Smoothing over the
wrinkles in life takes more cold
cash than hot metal.
Wan, pale, red-eyed, she’s
the poster wife of Wynette’s
song, “Stand By Your Man.”
Alan Dershowitz
said about prostitution
the lie men believe.
posted to my Twitter account
I need sleep, but I * need to work but I need sleep * to work can’t think straight.
In the skyscraper
canyons, light outlines moving
shapes sipping Starbucks.
“We’re domestic,” a
blonde woman tells her daughter
in line at the gate.
Bjork’s swan an urban
red carpet legend. Today
beauty takes no risks.
Kid in candy shop
I dab on product in search
of my true colors.
Longing to hug them,
I wait ’til they flutter near
like moths to my flame.
Going to New York
City. I’ve bought black clothing,
black low-heeled shoes.
In a misguided
effort I peeled off half my
face and left the hair.
Today was her last
day on a job I said ‘don’t
quit’ two years ago.
Not enough time for
cookies, cards, decorating.
Which one do I skip?
Brainiac Barack
cheerleader Oprah campaign.
A Disney moment.
God rest ye merry
gentlemen? I don’t see them
lifting a finger!
Only if you’re not
the one doing the shopping,
cleaning and baking.
Soldiers wear helmets.
Women wear makeup, styled hair.
Our mode of defense.
Like flickering tongues
of flame in green…blue…red. Just
plug in and enjoy.
It’s the guilty splurge,
potato chips for the mind.
You can’t watch just one.
Like speed dating, if
they make a good impression,
they come home with us.
Two tribes - In-laws and
Parents - force you to over-
eat, then watch TV.
Urban mall jungle.
Shoppers prowl for deals, fangs bared,
credit cards dripping.
She’d buy Free People,
match and mismatch carelessly,
revel in oddball.
J’s Pied Piper calls.
Mecca of offbeat fashion,
she shops in a daze.
My daughters watch the
Gilmour Girls non-stop, wishing
I were Lorelei.
Going to New York
to be on TV. Need new
clothes. A tent would work.
To eat or not to
eat? My stomach says yes, my
hips scream don’t you dare.
Should I say what I
feel, or what attracts readers?
Tempting to sell out.
They’ll watch football. We’ll
cook. Men and women. Hunters
and gatherers still.
If every meal
were cereal, we’d all have
more hours in the day.
I’m the kitchen air
traffic controller, and the
oven my runway.
A-Depp-t cult classic
fairy tale, gothic icon
all rolled into one.
Too many carbs. Need
tea, coffee, power drink. No
rest for the weary.
Don’t you know no girls
allowed? Threaten the big boys,
they call you a bitch.
I’d have crossed party
lines for you ’til today. Where
was your chivalry?
If her hair was much
bigger you’d mistake it for
blonde cotton candy.
Why bother with this
service when I keep up with
A Haiku A Day?
In another world
I am prettier, skinny,
naturally blonde.
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