If you read the post about the 18-year-old who didn’t know how to cook
You can now fast-forward 18 more years to a thirty-six-year-old single father who didn’t know how to cook
And while he bought and served nutritions fruits and vegetables
And his children ate them
He struggled to cook main dishes
So something like this came in handy
And since it was one child’s favorite
And still is
It merits a mention
I gave her flowers,
Chocolate,
And jewelry to glisten –
Apparently
She wanted me
To just shut up
And listen.
I love Dr Pepper
I guess now
You know I think it
I love Dr Pepper
I think
Every time I drink it
And like that guy
On all the memes
I do not always get it
But when I do
It treats me right
And yet will, If I’ll let it
You can have Fritos
Or Nacho Doritos
Or stop for some salsa
And pick up Tostitos
But I prefer Cheetos
And think it’d be neato
To have a whole bag
With a big beef burrito.
She told us of a boy at school
Who had her admiration
How she’d invite him over
After sixth grade graduation
They had the graduation
And awards? She won them all
And then we two were standing
In the busy locker hall
He walked up and she stepped out
Blushing full up to her hair
And as she spoke, he walked past her
As though she wasn’t there
No one else had seen it
As I watched her eyes grow blurred
And I wished then with all my soul
That hadn’t just occurred
In matters of the heart
We get one chance, with no rehearsal
Each joy unique, but heartbreak?
It’s the one thing universal
Summers, we’d go to the pool
And swim for hours, I think
Having exactly change to buy
One snack and one cold drink
As long as we knew we’d be there
We thought to have the smarts
To break our purchasing into
Two glorious equal parts
We’d get drinks first, two hours in
Once the real heat began
And sip them slowly in the shade
A glorious cooling span
The drink dispenser dropped a cup
Then ice, and then the drink
We’d finish that, and then go back
To swim until we’d sink
Finally, as time had come to go
To leave and catch the bus
We’d use our last to pick our snacks
With no need to discuss
These machines kept candy cold
There in the Florida sun
And Zero Bars were what we’d have
Each of us savoring one
White fudge on almond nougat
With I think, some caramel
A maybe peanut, slightly chilled
I still remember well
An although almost 50 years have passed
And I sit in this tower
Whenever I think hot and tired
I still think “Zero Hour”
People stumble on this weblog
And sometimes they bark their shin
Usually, they end up asking
Why I use a pseudonym
Why “Beleaguered Servant”, they ask –
A fair question, I might add –
It’s because of the long years
Of corporate vassalage I’ve had
I work as a corporate exec
For a company you know
When I started here on WordPress
I’d hit a career low
I was feeling, quite beleaguered
That’s the word I came to choose
To describe my web persona
These two words were what I’d use
These days, I’m not so beleaguered
And I write because I’m me
But I keep the pseudonym, now
It’s part of my poetry
Imagine, if you will, an eighteen-year-old
Boy
Back in 1980
Unable to cook so much as an egg.
Imagine him off at college
With a budget of, oh, roughly
Three dollars
Trying to make himself something to eat.
Now imagine a boy born in Italy
Way back in 1897
Who emigrated from there in 1914
And who spent time in New York and Cleveland
Before opening a factory
And developing war rations during WWII.
A real italian
Who really immigrated here
Who was a real chef
Who mass produced his real recipes
To feed
Real idiots like I was.
My dog thinks that I’m crazy
To sit for hours and write;
She says we call her lazy
When she stays put all night.
I will not deign to argue
My value with my dog,
But told her, “If you think so
Leave comments on my blog.”
