Why?

 

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My mother had a saying whenever I would go
asking why, she would reply: Because I told you so!
It didn't matter, really, what my question was,
she was always ready to fire back: Because!
Why is there a bed-time and why go off to school,
and why do birds eat insects and why do dogs have drool?
Why can't I drink coffee or jump out of a tree
or smoke cigars like grandpa or use the fence to pee?
"Because I told you so" was all she had to say,
and that was usually all it took to quiet me all day.
Now that I have grown up, I still do question why,
but now I have no mother to give me her reply.
She's gone beyond the questions, the hopes and tears of earth,
to where the answers glisten like rainbows giving birth.
My children have no questions, at least there's none for me;
I wonder how I trampled their curiosity?
 

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The Student Loan

 

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Student loans in college are as common as cell phones,
sold to students by the banks in dulcet, urgent tones.
The good life is dependent on obtaining that sheep skin,
so running up a crushing debt is surely not a sin.
Mom and dad will co-sign right upon the dotted line,
hoping that their backyard will contain a deep gold mine.
Everyone who graduates from college is assured
a job that pays a fortune, even if you're not a nerd.
You'll never flip a burger or become a lowly clerk --
in fact with this economy you'll likely never work,
but spend your life on welfare dreaming of that PhD,
living in the basement of your parents all for free.
 

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FW: from tim torkildson

 

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THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT PANHANDLER (with apologies to Coleridge's Ancient Mariner)
 
It is an ancient panhandler
and he stoppeth one of three.
By thy long beard and hinky eye
why dost thou pick on me?
The Nicollet Mall is open wide
and I am late for work;
here's a quarter, you old bum,
now go back to your murk.
He holds me with his dirty hand:
There was a time, quoth he,
there was a time when all the world
would list to none but me!
And so I sat upon a stone.
I cannot choose but hear
what the ancient Panhandler
is trying to make clear.
The whole world wanted my advice
on money matters, fast --
until I came a cropper
from the economy's rude blast.
'Twas like an albatross had laid
a load upon my head;
banks, investors, all alike,
all now did cut me dead.
The sun now rose upon the right
and now upon the left,
but my own sun had set for good.
Of cash I was bereft.
Credit, credit, everywhere,
yet all the banks did shrink.
Credit, credit, everywhere,
'twas like the missing link.
The very deep did rot, oy vay!
That ever this should be!
Yes, slimy things did crawl with legs
on radio, TV.
And every tongue, through utter drought,
did wag without regard
with mindless cogitations
on the fate of credit card.
"I fear thee, ancient Panhandler!"
"I fear thy filthy hand!"
"And thou are long and lank and stink
like burning rubber band!"
"Fear not, fear not! thou stroller mild"
"I bathe once every week"
"My soul is in such agony"
"that to thee I must speak."
Beyond the shadow of a doubt
I spied some water snakes;
they moved in tracks of bright pin-stripes,
a bunch of Wall Street fakes.
And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear.
It issued from the president
and made me shed a tear.
And now my spell was snapt: once more
I viewed the money green
and looked far forth for a career
but found things mighty lean.
But soon I heard the dash of oars.
My rescue seemed assured --
until I lost my house and then
my vision, it went blurred.
I wandered lonely as a cloud,
dependent on the alms
of those who think of charity
without cold selfish qualms.
Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
to thee, thou stroller blest --
He preyeth well who lieth well
to even Wedding-Guest.
He went like one who hath been stunned
and is of sense forlorn--
no doubt there's more will join him
who have recently been shorn.
 

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New Stadiums

 

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New stadiums are packed with suites and seats behind home plate;
top dollar for a ticket now would bankrupt a small state.
The fans begin to baulk at paying highway robbery
to owners who are greedy and appear quite slobbery.
And so some spots remain unmanned, unsold, a laughing stock,
where tumble weeds do ramble by and coyotes howl and mock.
The cobwebs soon will cover up long rows of empty seats,
until the players are all forced to hang up their fine cleats.
Then stadiums will just collapse with horrifying crash,
and kids will play at stickball upon heaps of steaming trash.

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Talkinig Heads

 

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Oh, talking heads on TV news
I hate the way you laugh and schmooze;
your mindless chatter irritates
like squeaky shoes or rusty gates.
You chortle over nothing much;
a racing motor without clutch.
More hollow than a vacuum tube
and slicker than a Jiffy Lube,
your cotton candy stories stick
right in my craw and make me sick.
Pure fluff, I wait for the blest day
when all of you will float away.

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Debt Relief

 

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Debt relief is promised by a host of companies
excelling at the come-on and seductive, fulsome tease.
As the populace inclines to credit card abuse,
these hucksters chew 'em up and spit 'em out like Grade A snoose.
Pay their fee and watch them disappear without a trace,
as your credit score is tattered more than Grandma's lace.
If you were to ask me how this differs from a score
of other scams that companies impose upon the poor,
I'd have to say it's all the same -- the rich collect the chips
while they trim us paupers with sweet lies upon their lips.
 

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Cold Cereal

 

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Cold cereal for breakfast is an awful way to start
a day that will require much of strength and mind and heart;
extruded by contraptions that care naught for humankind,
they snap and pop and crackle 'til you almost lose your mind.
No Frankenberry monster or buffoonish Cap'n Crunch
will tempt me to embrace them in the morning or at brunch.
If roughage I am needing I'll not stoop to chill bran flakes,
even if my bowels twist up like hibernating snakes.
Kellogs may be all right for mere infants in their bibs,
but give me something hearty that will stick right to my ribs:
An egg in all its splendor or a sausage leaking grease,
potatoes on the griddle in amounts that never cease;
Flapjacks oozing butter with Log Cabin on the side;
toast with lots of jelly and crisp bacon, long and wide.
Be gone, ye sugared crumbles and all others of your ilk!
You're nothing but dry saw dust that does spoil a bowl of milk.

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Citigroup

 

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Citigroup and other banks wield pencils that are sharp.
They claim a tidy profit (do not mention the word TARP).
They take a sunny view of math and toxic assets, too;
they seem to be romantic when it comes to residue.
Reserves are deemed sufficient, if not actually posh;
like Tom Sawyer they are skilled at spreading the whitewash.
Believe them if you want to but before you use their vault,
I'd go out and get me a gigantic grain of salt.

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In Memorium

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A friend of mine has passed away;
it happened just the other day.
The last I heard his health was good;
he exercised and straight he stood.
But in a moment he was gone,
to face a finer, brighter dawn.
He was a better man than I;
he looked the world straight in the eye.
He meant so much to me and yet
his birthday I seemed to forget.
Of troubles he did not complain;
he had his share of mortal pain.
I was in luck to be his friend,
but I am troubled by his end.
He was the same age I am now;
I could be next, but anyhow,
what causes me to say "aw shucks"
is that he owed me twenty bucks.

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The Extra Fee

 

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Invent a fee for government to charge and you'll be hailed
as a civic hero (though there's some would have you jailed).
A charge for trash collectors who are silent, with a smile;
a fee for clerks who really know a trash can from a file.
Don't forget a bonus for the cop upon the beat
when he busts a criminal who isn't very fleet;
keep the parks wide open with no charge for going in,
but to come back out you pay a pound of flesh and skin.
Driver's license photos are disgraceful, all agree --
if you want a touch-up you just pay a little fee.
How about a charge for every window in your house
or a running meter when at City Hall you grouse?
Birds migrating must pay toll for using our air space;
let the bookies pay some vig upon our old rat race.
Churches ringing bells upon the sacred Sabbath morn
should be dinged quite piously and vigorously shorn;
every tic from every clock should pay a heavy price,
and lets tax Lawrence Welk reruns right into Paradise!
Oh, there's money to be made from a variety of troubles --
never mind the rage that boils in taxpayers and bubbles.

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Car Alarms

 

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As I am sleeping soundly in the stillness of the night,
a car alarm goes off so loud that all my wits take flight.
The shrill, insistent warble of this automotive tune
makes me want to tear my hair and go bay at the moon.
No thief is lurking anywhere attempting to hijack
a Ford or Lexus or Hyundai or even Cadillac;
no, a squirrel or bunny has bumped into someone's car,
and so the damn alarm goes off, annoying near and far.
With my temples throbbing I await the owner's pleasure --
heaping down around his head strong curses without measure.
Why so many car alarms are in my neighborhood
is a mystery which I have never understood;
in my neighborhood the cars are uniformly crummy.
Anyone who'd steal such junk must really be a dummy!

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Gratitude

 

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Be grateful for the cloudy sky that weeps a freezing rain,
for otherwise you'd never know the site of your storm drain.
Enjoy the runny nose a cold will bring in dead of night,
cuz if you did not have a nose you'd look an awful sight.
Rejoice in poverty and want; they teach us many things --
like how to pick a pocket and make do with chicken wings.
Never grumble when your stocks and bonds collapse in ruin --
remember that the plum grows sweet when it becomes a prune.
Be grateful that life treats you bad and sorrows multiply,
and while you're at it tell me how a bowling ball can fly.

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Free Lunch

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The free lunch is a figment of a fairy tale, you say?
Nobody ever gets one in this common workaday.
Brother, I've got news for you that might come as a shock --
free lunches are as common as our noon-time table talk.
Legislatures vote themselves free lunches every day;
grown-up kids who live at home will never have to pay;
celebrities and journalists who know just how to schmooze
not only get their luncheons free but also get free booze.
Athletes get a free nosh, as do astronauts and preachers;
me, I get a hot dog which I pay for in the bleachers.
Bankers and the Wall Street gang eat free without suggestion
that their gluttony might lead to mighty indigestion.
The Free Lunch syndrome sure has spread -- 'most everybody's got it.
I should know, cuz I'm the guy who normally has bought it.

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life jackets

When the Feds give money there are always strings attached;
like a bargain with the devil, it cannot be scratched.
There's no rhyme or reason to the way it's handed out;
whether with a whisper or a bellowing great shout.
You might get a little or you just might get a lot;
then you might be left alone or put upon the spot.
And if you should refuse it then a traitor you'll be called
and the folks around you will most likely snatch you bald.
Everybody's getting some, so why not you and me.
When the ship is going down can life jackets be free?
 

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Guns

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick/he'll get shot by someone sick/the streets and schools and public squares/are filled with lonely loony stares/they've been taught a gun should be/a standard fine accessory/movies, TV, NRA/we bear arms; it is our way/to resolve life's little quirks/by blasting holes in all the jerks/Tom & Jerry, Elmer Fudd/plugged each other in a flood/of cartoonish industry/antiseptic, fancy-free/cops & robbers, Annie Oakley/as Flanders sez: It's okley-dokely/oh, the fine metallic charms/of such deadly firearms/bullets everywhere we look/even in best-selling book/Gun & Roses, GI Joe/X-box games -- on with the show!/(get your gun and do-si-do)/don't forget the ammunition/on your way down to perdition/children gunned down in their bed/parents shot straight in the head/strangers slaughtered on a whim/in raw blood we daily swim/good it were if guns were not/easy made and easy bought/but they are and so we duck/trusting often to dumb luck/life is short and often stuns/helped along by many guns/can anyone conceive a place/for guns before the Father's face?/when we hear the final knell/all our guns will go to hell/(will we follow them as well?)

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First Time

 

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From Miami's golden beaches to the Phoenix cactus belt/there are first time buyers waiting to put down a little gelt/as the high rollers have tumbled and their houses take a dive/the modest, thrifty renter now begins to really thrive/those who ate leftovers and stayed home to watch TV/are moving in to snap up much abandoned property/their new-found happiness is built upon the many tears/of lavish spending dummies who ignored all credit fears/if everyone were frugal and everyone were wise/there'd be no chance to buy a house for all these little guys.

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Fish Oil

 

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America continues as the con man's simple foil
by lapping up great gallons of disgusting cold fish oil.
It started with cod liver given to defenseless child,
compared to which pure turpentine is smooth-tasting and mild.
This year of grace the masses pop their fish oil pills like mad --
the anchovy has now become a healthy, hearty, fad.
Fish oil has omega-this and beta-blocker-that;
it will give you glossy hair and boost a chest that's flat.
For all I know it lubricates the brain cells one by one,
so they discharge smartness faster than a Gatling gun.
But let me tell you this, my friend, I've never seen a fish
that looked like it was healthy or did not demand an "ish!"
 

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Pickled Herring

 

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Oh I have traveled far and wide and done some deeds of daring;
to fuel these flights of fancy I prefer the pickled herring.
Tart and sweet and crunchy -- when you bite a celery seed --
pickled herring is a part of every Norsky's creed.
Snobs and Casper Milquetoasts think it's just for smorgasbord;
I have it with my eggs and toast and Cream of Wheat -- oh lord!
It gives my breath a flourish that nobody can ignore;
knocking all the weak-kneed folk directly to the floor.
Eat some pickled herring and then kiss a girl or two . . .
those who can survive it are the ones you ought to woo.
 

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The Buffet

The buffet lunch and dinner crowd do gobble down and quaff
their food and drink like piggies gathered 'round communal trough.
They pay their seven dollars, then they fall upon the food
with appetite and passion that is positively lewd.
Seven kinds of chicken, mashed potatoes by the yard,
noodles, cabbage, gravy, and wheat rolls, both soft and hard.
Sixteen different pickles, hard boiled eggs, and stir fried rice;
jellow, pizza, taco bar, and fruit pie by the slice.
I think it is depressing how they want their money's worth
and so they eat and eat and eat, increasing their own girth.
And when they leave their tables, piles of food do still remain;
enough to feed the population of the state of Maine.
In a world where hunger sends poor children off to bed,
the denizens of buffets in stark shame should hang their head.

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