TikTok Dough

If I had a dog

I would lead her around

watch her dig in the ground

and shoot TikTok videos

of the cute scratches I found.

 

I would record her reaction

to bouncy brunettes

to minuscule threats

her jumping and barking

at minuscule threats

When I published my clips

0f her industrious digs

I would do careful research

and make sure my dog

has the catchiest name

to help me make money

which is what dogs are for

man’s most lucrative friend.

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[Note: I originally posted this in early 2013, but it remains one of my spouse’s favorites, so who am I to judge, as the recently-departed Francis said.  Unlike the Catholic Church, I promise not to make a habit (ha-ha) of recycling my old material.]

This announcement may come as a surprise, or it may come as a thief in the night, but either way, I also have decided to step down as Pope.  I bet you didn’t know there was an Atheist Pope.  Well, now you do.  The only difference is, we call ours The Nope.

I was elected The Nope seven years ago by some cardinals that landed on our bird feeder.  They thought it was a miracle how this wooden box with a perch was always full of seed, enough to feed every bird for miles around, day after day.  So the cardinals met in secret and decided that I should keep feeding them, forever.  They let the rest of the bird world know their decision by leaving some white drops on my chimney.

I made the most of my tenure as The Nope.  I enjoyed the company of presidents and kings, and when I no longer enjoyed their company, I would just ask my wife to turn off the news.  That’s right, I have a wife.  You are allowed to have one when you are the Atheist Pope.  I think you are allowed to have three if you are the Mormon Pope, but I am not infallible on that.

I am stepping down as The Nope to spend more time with family and maybe travel a little.  I’d like to see Rome, for example, without being perched up on this balcony.  I keep saying, perches are for cardinals.  Anyway, arrivederci, everyone.  And so long to the bubble car!  I want one of those new Corvettes.  In red, of course.

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13: Details of Wealth

The elaborate salad

in the petite bowl

with pepper flake

 

The worn pattern

on the kitchen tiles

where drippings fell

 

The gold-rimmed glass

favored by the master

has sustained a chip

 

The wooden pedestal

and the black telephone

that conveys her wishes

 

The pendulum clock

beneath Father’s portrait

strikes cardinal tones

 

The empty custard cup

is allowed to linger

a moment but no more

 

The clouds of  fortune

bestow silver rains

upon the privileged

 


 

14: Dylan Song

Dylan walks into a bar

because he’s looking for some comfort

His ex hung up the phone again

without pretending to be friendly

and now Dylan does his finger-wave

Man, I know you see me!

But the barman looks right past him

to the woman in the outfit

that was way too short for Tuesday…

So Dylan waits and waits and then

storms out of that dank place

Just another slap in the face from Life

 

He drives back home as sirens play

the notes of a nearby incident

but Dylan can’t hear anything

than the pain of his own instrument

It’s no wonder that she left me!

is the thought that wouldn’t leave him

as he looks down Scarsdale Avenue

for the outlines of his driveway

where sirens do not penetrate

and tired cops give up their chase

and Dylan finds his special place

One less slap in the face from Life

 

Dylan lifts the covers from his eyes

and takes in his surroundings

a collection of the objects saved

from his eternal childhood

those Remco toys for girls and boys

and Golden Books of Knowledge

He kicks away his bedclothes and

for a minute lays so dignified

in his third-or-fourth-day underwear

so unsuitable for outings

but well-prepared for outer space

and his next slap in the face from Life

 

His bedroom window overlooks

the street next to the factories

The asphalt stops at the waterworks

where Dylan once went fishing

but those careless days were long ago

and Dylan now does tae-kwon-do

a less mystic form of  fighting

against far more insubstantial foes

than the carp in that polluted creek

where bluegills got one last dry-eyed peek

at Dylan’s hand and its embrace

their final slap in the face from Life

 

He reaches back for feelings lost

before his romance faltered

and though he tries to exorcise

the ghosts of those emotions

Their dominoes fell long ago:

2 blanks gave him a broken nose

2 sixes led to their first kiss

Now she’s an existentialist

living somewhere near Los Angeles

The woman Dylan once embraced

just up and left without a trace

One last slap in his face from Life

 


 

15: Please Help Abandoned Beach Toys Today

© Craig H Collins, 2002
These toys need to be held.

 


 

16: Mary’s Lamb 2025

Mary had a liberal lamb

a liberal lamb

named Abraham

Mary and her liberal lamb

were fond of Jacques Cousteau

 

Everywhere that Mary went

her lamb would bleat

its loud dissent

Abraham was not content

to back the status quo

 

It followed her to school one day

leaped to her desk

and baa-ed away

It lectured on the works of Che

which was against the rules

 

Mary’s lamb cried, “Global peace

is worth far more

than my pale fleece! “

Her teacher promptly called the police

and Abraham fled the school

 

The cops arrived but didn’t find

their leftist threat

to humankind

 just Little Mary disinclined

to help them find her lamb.

 

“My lamb is kind! ” she dared exclaim

“It is so gentle

 and so tame! ”

She begged them to forget the name

of her beloved Abraham.

 

“Oh, Mary loves that lamb, you know,”

her teacher huffed,

“so both must go! ”

Mary’s face turned white as snow

as they hauled her to the van

 

Abraham was not far away

It watched this scene

with great dismay

It called out, “I will save the day! ”

and to Mary’s side it ran.

 

It took a bite of one cop’s ass

as if it were

sweet meadow grass

“And here’s one for the working class! ”

it cried while biting harder.

 

Thus Mary and her liberal lamb

would manage to

escape that jam

then post it all on Instagram

to stir Progressive ardor.

 


 

17: Treeism

 

 

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