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Daniel Galef: The Good Doctor

Doctor Hastings went to see
The Scottish Play (you know, Mac-B.);
The star, mid-speech, collapsed on stage,
And when they cried that custom page,
“Is there a doctor in the house?!”,
Hastings, silent as a mouse
Stayed sat. He knew what all should know:
It’s rude to interrupt the show.

        ♦         ♦         ♦ 

Jerome Betts: Picnic Basket Case

Lettuce you call this? Limp green baize
Round ham like sticking-plaster – why?
These rolls have seen far better days.
The tongue? It’s much too tough and dry!

More chicken? Tastes like cotton-wool!
Has someone mixed the milk with bleach?
No thanks, I feel a little full . . .
Is there a doctor on the beach?

        ♦         ♦         ♦  

Bruce McGuffin: Zombies

The zombie threat seems rather slight at first glance.
Well I don't know for sure, but I won't take a chance.
It could start with one spill in that underground lab
Where they grow zombie germs on the taxpayer's tab.

So I’ll learn about zombies by watching a show,
Things like when they attack do they come fast or slow?
I’ll start stockpiling food soon, then all that remains
Is a good place to hide when they come for my brains.

         ♦         ♦         ♦ 

Christine Roberts: Big Foot

I may have tangly, knotted hair and teeth as sharp as needles.
I may live in a messy lair and eat a LOT of beetles.
I may drink pond scum, hot and sour. It’s really quite delicious
And gives my breath a lovely tang. It’s also quite nutritious.
I may say “ROWWRRR!”− that’s just my way of talking.
It may look like I creep around−that’s just my way of walking.
I’d squeeze you tight and hug you if I could.
I’m really not a scary guy, I’m just misunderstood!

        ♦         ♦         ♦ 

Jim Dunlap: Epilogue To The Camptown Races

The jockey hugs the horse,
And the horse hugs the rail –
The sport is so romantic
That it really can't fail
To arouse your libido –
So you don't even cry
As you pucker your lips
And kiss your money goodbye.

         ♦         ♦         ♦ 

Bear Gephardt: Rocky’s Oneness

Rocky, our dog, sniffs something so rank,
So good, so lush and perfect, he wants to be it.

He first puts his neck in, then
Forehead, shoulders, scoots his flank
Back to his neck, turns up, wiggles,
Rolls deep, long, round and round
Trying to become horse manure.

Comes close to succeeding . . .

        ♦         ♦         ♦ 

Paul Willis: Oleander

(Nerium oleander)

Oleander! Take a gander
at these whorls of creamy flowers.
If you eat them, you’ll deplete them
and destroy your mortal hours.

Yet by highways and in byways
you will see them bloom and thrive.
In Hiroshima it may seem a
miracle: they stayed alive.


Pale pink oleander flowers