The Rules of Engagement


We played chicken,

Until the plot thickened,

There was some kicking,

And I was stricken,

And honestly sickened.

Then came the blowback,

And backlash,

Followed by attacks,

Without tact.

We acted,

Like brash asses,

In the pool,

But that’s no place for cruel fools,

Only honorable duels,

Which follow the rules.

Only with conviction

To consistent conventions,

Can Chicken be played.

It demands surgeon-like steady hands,

A strong stance,

And some symmetry,


And good ground game.

Without those pieces,

The game ceases,

Animosity increases,

For no good reason.

Views From Lalaland


I’m happy to hobnob,

In the enclave,

Despite the mobs,

And the roads unpaved,

It’s a beautiful place.

Stay away from the villlages,

Those folks aren’t known for hospitality,

Lack dilligence,

And have no mentality,

To speak of.

Climb scenic Mount Delirium,

But don’t read the signs,

And their false criteria,

They’ll try to trick you.

Inhale some helium,

Spin three times,

Stand at the summit,

And survey the land before you,

Beautiful, isn’t it?

Good thing you’ve got no work to do,

Stay as long as you’d like.



Diamond-plated steps,

peeling paint,

and a cardboard ruler

demonstrating the height requirement.

Pewter pistons,

hidden hinges

standing cushions,

eroded by time

and centrifugal force.

Blinking lights all around the ridges

and a long line of patrons

brandishing bracelets

soft drinks,

plush prizes

and crumpled tickets.

The ride spins,

blinking like a UFO,

ready to launch

and fly faster than light,

but it never gets off the ground.

You stumble around,

pretty dizzy,

ready for the next thrill.

“One more time?”

she says.

Your hair is mussed,

from the last six times,

she asked.

“Why not,”

you say,

while turning about face,

to stand single-file

once more.