Birdhouse Chairs by cm brooks
Crabby Old Men
Although I’ve tried hard
not to become one of them,
I’m failing.
Last night, near dawn,
a light came on.
I felt irritated,
bored, and offended,
(definition of crabby!)
I feel like I’m becoming
King Crab.
Don’t look at me like that,
I know what I’m not doing
and I won’t start again.
Crabs once came to Earth
from somewhere else
in the Universe, probably
the Crab Nebula.
(Who came first, the crab
or the nebula?)
They landed in the bottom
of Chesapeake Bay
and gradually migrated
into towns and cities
and now they’re
everywhere.
Once I lived next to
a bungalow full of naked
old men called The Crabs.
If we spoke above a whisper
someone would yell shut up.
One of them told me once,
“You know crabs are
gender neutral.”
When I watched crabs fucking
at the Aquarium
I realized he was
talking about himself.
Crabbiness is a treasure
I’ve tried to avoid.
I once was sweeter
and more lovable
but lately I’m just…
crabby.
I can’t help it,
life is too complicated
and I’m already excommunicated.
~ Jack McGuane
little old library lady
little old library lady
parks next to
my flower car
to feel better
bringing back her books
glad to meet me
dont know the economics
about overdue
fine immunity for seniors
like down the street
the competing library
~ Jim Lang