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Two Better Pasttimes. ( A Bit O' Rant)

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

This Is It

I Long For Stars

Falling Leaf, Falling Man/Woman, Rising Star

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

Its About Waking In The Middle Of The Night And Having To Write It All Down

It Feels Better To Be Unfinished (Wish-Unspoken, But With My Eyes)

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

All In The Family (Family, What A Concept)


Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

Max on the max

All My Children ( CATS ARE PEOPLE TOO)

How I Think That About Every One...

In Layers

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Silent Endings

All Beings Considered

Wake And Remember

Call This Our Autumn

Small Sentry

If I Could Be The Sky...

All Too Clearly Now

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care



It Comes At Night

The Hot Seasons

Perhaps I Too, Was Frozen

You Are (I'm Here With You)

Joyce Will Soon Be Seventy-Something

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Last In  Class

I winnowed myself down
through selecting
exacting words
and information

oneself to another who's only half able
to listen
even though she's paid
100 dollars an hour

she couldn't see me
for my fat behind
hers was flat, pretty and trim
firmly planted
into the seat of
a high-end Danish roll-away chair

tell me
she crisped
why you're here...
like we're conducting a job interview
as she plinked away at the keys
pretending to be all enthusiasm
and pricked ears

explain to me
your insignificance
she was so expansive...
list all of your tiresome complaints
tell me who you think you are
then I'll whittle you down to a smaller size
with my suggestions
and my meager fixes
and a grocery list of
back-handed comments

I notice how
she's giving the computer more attention
than she is giving me
I notice
she's already made  her assessments
though its been a game of telephone
tin cans and string

she wants me to believe in her
but she hasn't listened to me
she enjoys telling me what to do
thinks herself a
walking talking fountain of knowledge
in designer heels

I'm sure she wears army boots
and hides a crop
though it could be the tongue
in her mouth

as she turns to give me her
crocodile smile
I feel as if I've been branded
interesting how
she's unable to repeat
any or all that I've just said
she doesn't need my notes
she is so candid

I could slap her

a carbon copy
of those docs
that I've met before
passing out advice and a bill
leading you quickly to the door
and wondering
what the hell
just happened

I believe I'll mark her
return to sender
with my own prescription:
doctorate earned
last in class
but a real first rate offender

legal copyright for this poem/work
June 18 2018/ 3:49pm PST time /date stamped
and also for this writer/author/poet
Melissa A Howells/and also for this legally
copyrighted site title:
Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World

re-edited August 15 2018 5:28pm PST

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