How bothersome it is when flies
Buzz my coffee at sunrise!
If you have a fretful wife,
Be prepared for lots of strife!
Swat the spider, set it free
From its webbed captivity!
A deep hole—imagine that!
Will it fit inside my hat?
My bicycle is looping round and round the park;
Morning, noon, and afternoon—even in the dark!
Roses for the weekend, every weekday too;
Roses, darling, roses—yellow ones for you.
More Sunday’s Whirligig #242
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #6 at Poets United
Sunday morning our neighbor, a high school history teacher, wheeled his bicycle into the street and pedaled away for his customary ride. He never came home again. About an hour later, two police cars and a police motorcycle arrived, bringing the teacher’s bicycle, his helmet—and bad news. Throughout the day we gathered bits and pieces of information from another neighbor. No, the teacher hadn’t been struck by a car. Apparently he had a stroke or a heart attack, and toppled from his bike. Rushed by ambulance to a local hospital, he hovered between life and death for several hours. By nightfall, he was dead. What started out to be an exciting summer festival of rest, relaxation and recuperation for a weary educator turned into a season of mourning for his wife and two grown children.