this was inspired by an exchange between me and Teddy Donobauer about smiles and actual experiences in my life
to better gain our quest
Husband Paul went east
I pushed the baskcart west
Four days lay between us
and our deadline: Christmas Day
we were highly optimistic
we could reach our goal this way
Determined to be focused
I'd memorized my list
and mumbled to my self
I need this and this and this
Once, twice a third time
Paul called me on my cell
asking me if this was right
or would that one do as well
With each call and decision
I lost my train of thought
was that wallet on my list
or was it already bought?
No matter what temptation
from above or below
I was going to be cheerful
so much that all would know
It was a little crowded
as I knew it would be
but I worked to stay composed
most ardently
A quite serious test
I managed to pass
when a woman rammed my ankle
with her baskcart when she passed
She gouged it with a vengence
like it had no earthly right
to be in the popcorn aisle
at six o'clock that night
It took my breath away
and I looked into her face
and saw an expression
I'd seen before someplace
It was de'ja'vu
Oh goodness could it be
the phantom baskcart woman
back to de-ankle me?
In the days of long ago
in a store not far from here
I was pushing a baskcart
shopping, in good cheer
Then suddenly a gasp
filled up my lungs
when pain struck my ankle
causing me to speak in tongues
The driver of that cart
gave me an angry look
dissolving my anger
as dismay overtook
And here she is again!
What could her problem be?
And why in the world
does she have to baskcart me?
Hobbling along
trying to smile through the pain
I grab a few items
that still float in my brain
Then off to meet Paul
at the checkout line
he shows me his items
I show him mine
When I show him my ankle
imagine my surprise
when he laughes out loud
and says, "I can't believe my eyes!"
He recalls the first account
of the baskcart ankle attack
I had published it years ago
and gotten great feedback
We both had the same question
what made this lady so mad
had life done something to her
or was it a condition she had?
The woman before us in line
began checking out
while Paul watched her process
I fiddled about
I heard the cashier and Paul
talking and turned to see
the woman who had just checked out
was the one who had baskcarted me!
They were discussing her demeanor
she looked so mad and dour
she was silent but her mouth was pursed
like she was eating something sour
I said, "That's her!
She's the ankle hater!"
"At least she hates mine
that's an indicator."
"I don't know", said Paul
"She didn't attack mine.
But, she was very rude
while going through this line."
"Yes", agreed the cashier.
She didn't speak a word.
That's highly unusual.
In fact, its absurd."
"What would cause someone," I asked
"to be so doggone rude?'
And pointing to my ankle added,
"and dangerous and crude?"
Troubles, health, or just plain mean
the causes were debated
Was the baskcart lady angry?
or really constipated?
Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Read 1081 times
Written on 2010-12-22 at 08:05
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You Never Know
We split the shopping dutiesto better gain our quest
Husband Paul went east
I pushed the baskcart west
Four days lay between us
and our deadline: Christmas Day
we were highly optimistic
we could reach our goal this way
Determined to be focused
I'd memorized my list
and mumbled to my self
I need this and this and this
Once, twice a third time
Paul called me on my cell
asking me if this was right
or would that one do as well
With each call and decision
I lost my train of thought
was that wallet on my list
or was it already bought?
No matter what temptation
from above or below
I was going to be cheerful
so much that all would know
It was a little crowded
as I knew it would be
but I worked to stay composed
most ardently
A quite serious test
I managed to pass
when a woman rammed my ankle
with her baskcart when she passed
She gouged it with a vengence
like it had no earthly right
to be in the popcorn aisle
at six o'clock that night
It took my breath away
and I looked into her face
and saw an expression
I'd seen before someplace
It was de'ja'vu
Oh goodness could it be
the phantom baskcart woman
back to de-ankle me?
In the days of long ago
in a store not far from here
I was pushing a baskcart
shopping, in good cheer
Then suddenly a gasp
filled up my lungs
when pain struck my ankle
causing me to speak in tongues
The driver of that cart
gave me an angry look
dissolving my anger
as dismay overtook
And here she is again!
What could her problem be?
And why in the world
does she have to baskcart me?
Hobbling along
trying to smile through the pain
I grab a few items
that still float in my brain
Then off to meet Paul
at the checkout line
he shows me his items
I show him mine
When I show him my ankle
imagine my surprise
when he laughes out loud
and says, "I can't believe my eyes!"
He recalls the first account
of the baskcart ankle attack
I had published it years ago
and gotten great feedback
We both had the same question
what made this lady so mad
had life done something to her
or was it a condition she had?
The woman before us in line
began checking out
while Paul watched her process
I fiddled about
I heard the cashier and Paul
talking and turned to see
the woman who had just checked out
was the one who had baskcarted me!
They were discussing her demeanor
she looked so mad and dour
she was silent but her mouth was pursed
like she was eating something sour
I said, "That's her!
She's the ankle hater!"
"At least she hates mine
that's an indicator."
"I don't know", said Paul
"She didn't attack mine.
But, she was very rude
while going through this line."
"Yes", agreed the cashier.
She didn't speak a word.
That's highly unusual.
In fact, its absurd."
"What would cause someone," I asked
"to be so doggone rude?'
And pointing to my ankle added,
"and dangerous and crude?"
Troubles, health, or just plain mean
the causes were debated
Was the baskcart lady angry?
or really constipated?
Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Read 1081 times
Written on 2010-12-22 at 08:05
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
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