Poems by Cynthia C. Naspinski

I know that stink! I have no doubts
That Mom has cooked up Brussels sprouts.
Of all the things that I despise,
The Brussels sprout would take first prize.

I've blocked my nose and tried to swallow,
Guzzled lots of milk to follow,
But I can tell you nothing works
'Cause in my mouth the taste still lurks.

Once I slipped one in my pocket,
But after dinner I forgot it.
Next day I shoved my hand in there
And gave myself a nasty scare.

In Mom's pot plant I used to hide
A sprout or two, but then IT DIED!
And now my sister's learned to count,
I can't add to her sprout amount.

My dog won't even help me out.
He will not eat a Brussels sprout.
He'll lick his butt, eat possum poop,
But to eat sprouts he will not stoop.

Maybe it is just as well
Because his farts already smell.
He does not need a Brussels sprout
To turbocharge what's coming out!

Please Mom, can we work out a deal
That gets me out of this here meal?
I'd clear the table, do the dishes,
Be your genie, grant you wishes.

I'd clean my room a little later
And feed the dog (that little traitor!).
I'd pull weeds till my hands blister.
I'd even play nice with my sister.

But Mom, it would be best all around
If other veggies could be found,
So we could all just go without
The gross, revolting Brussels sprout!

My friends are all astonished
At the things my pets can do.
They say my pets are gifted
But I hardly think that's true.

My hamster performs somersaults
When leaping from his wheel.
He never sticks the landing
So I don't see the big deal.

My cat plays the piano
Only when she's in the mood,
But her singing is atrocious
And she usually gets booed.

The dog likes playing Scrabble
But he's not much of a threat.
The words he plays are basic
And he hasn't beat me yet.

My parrot recites poetry
That he likes to compose,
But nothing ever rhymes
And I am not a fan of prose.

The goldfish in his fish tank
Enjoys playing water polo,
But his goals aren't that impressive
'Cause he's only playing solo

So you see, my pets are really
Just a pretty average bunch.
Now I have to go wash up
Because the dog has made my lunch.

My husband plays golf, or at least he does try.
After many a round he will wonder just why.
It's not just a sport, it's a full-blown obsession
That can be euphoric or lead to depression.

He walks through the door, and I ask how it went,
Just being polite, but my ear will get bent.
He spouts meaningless numbers and hole-by-hole plays.
He won't even notice my eyes start to glaze.

The gear you can buy is expensive and endless.
I must admit that I wish he would spend less.
If you think that some clubs, a bag, balls and shoes
Would be all that he'd need, then you haven't a clue!

He needs GPS watches and ball picker-uppers,
Umbrellas and gloves and club cleaning brushes,
Remote controlled buggy and replacement grips.
Don't forget lessons and those golfing trips.

The pricing of golf wear just couldn't be crasser -
Fabric technology developed by NASA!
And before you know it he wants to trade up;
His clubs are old models and not up to snuff.

He watches the tournaments and every golf show
(To me it's as thrilling as watching grass grow).
He browses the internet and reads magazines;
The golf tips on YouTube, the knowledge he gleans!

This theory won't always translate into practice.
He'll mess with his game till it's totally cactus.
The stance and the takeaway, the swing plane and height
Have all been dissected till nothing works right.

And then one fine day he's as pleased as can be,
A hole-in-one certificate he presents to me.
It's not quite a car, but I'm still very proud;
A feat only dreamed of...I truly am wowed!

A trophy now takes pride of place on the shelf,
A reminder to not be too hard on himself.
He mustn't give up when his handicap suffers,
'Cause then I would lose those sweet five hour buffers!

O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
You truly are a beauty.
I used to love to put you up,
Now it's a dreaded duty.

Lugging you out from storage
Gets more strenuous each year,
And assembling all your branchy parts
Does not fill me with cheer.

Then each and every little stem
I tediously unflatten.
Your artificial symmetry,
It doesn't...just...happen.

Next challenge is your tree lights,
Which I always have to wrangle.
No matter how I've coiled them,
They unwind in a tangle.

A few choice words escape me
As I clear the final knot,
Then turn to find the other end
Has formed another clot.

I string them from your branches,
Draping with the greatest care,
To find that I've run out of lights,
Your bottom third still bare.

After some more botched attempts
They're artfully arranged.
Your lights are nice and even
Though I'm feeling quite deranged.

These days the decorating
Doesn't hold the same appeal.
Now that the kids are all grown up,
It's left for me to deal.

I miss the days when they were young,
We'd trim your boughs together.
With Christmas carols playing,
They are memories I treasure.

Your ornaments now look just right
From every viewing angle,
But at your back against the wall,
The not so nice ones dangle.

At long last the job is done.
It's taken me all day;
Too worn out to appreciate
Your beautiful display.

On Christmas Day you play your part,
All twinkling in resplendence,
With family all gathered round
And opening their presents.

O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
A sight extraordinary;
Must steel myself to pack you up,
It's almost February!

You find you're getting hairier though not atop your head.
You somehow sustain injuries while sleeping in your bed.
Your arm is not quite long enough to make the fine print clear.
You walk into a room then think - Now why'd I come in here?

You only use your mobile phone to send texts and to talk.
You don't change into workout gear just to take a walk.
You phone in for your takeout and you pick up your own order.
You need your kids to help set up the new HD recorder.

You frequent ATMs so you can have some cash on hand.
You venture to the beach but just to walk along the sand.
Before going somewhere new, you check the parking situation.
Your generation's music now plays on the oldies station.

You type a text one handed using just your index finger.
You'd struggle to identify a top ten song or singer.
When faced with going out at night you'd rather watch TV.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor is a distant memory.

You don't trust direct debit and you still get paper bills.
It's starting to get harder to keep track of all your pills.
You keep forgetting passwords, so you now just have the one.
You're alarmed to find your surgeon looks ridiculously young.

Most things are sagging lower but your waistband's sitting higher.
When scrolling to your year of birth your finger starts to tire.
You no longer feel confident when climbing up a ladder.
A good chunk of your nighttime is spent emptying your bladder.

You miss the end of movies 'cause you can't help nodding off.
You're not sure which is harder, bending down or straightening up.
TV shows are hard to follow because all the actors mumble.
Your friends no longer laugh when you trip or take a tumble.

Instead of squeezing pimples you're now plucking out stray hairs.
Loud music now annoys you but your television blares.
You find yourself declaring things like, "It will outlast me!"
Your doctor recommends you get a colonoscopy.

Regardless of how many of these signs apply to you,
A healthy sense of humour is the key to help you through.
Laughter's the best medicine, life needn't be so bleak.
Just don't laugh too hard in case you spring a little leak!

She has left a void,
the rooms too quiet, too still,
the yard just a yard,
for in her absence we see
just how much presence she had.

Benny the bear was bare of all hair
And barely could bear being hairless.
He felt rather silly (and a little bit chilly)
And wished that the hairy bears stared less.

Before long, the bears with their full coats of hair
Barely noticed young Benny Bear's bareness.
But bearing in mind, a bare bear's hard to find,
Benny soon grew aware of his rareness.

So it came to bear that when Benny the bear
Got stared at he barely could care less.
He didn't mind, he was one of a kind;
A rare bear who's beautifully hairless!

Tummies flat and waists so tiny,
Perky breasts and cleavage shiny,
Photoshopped into 'perfection,'
On display for our inspection.

Body shapes manipulated,
Filtered, tweaked, exaggerated.
Legs made longer, thighs made lean,
Create a thigh gap in between.

Natural looking, beachy hair
Arranged and styled with utmost care.
Air-brushed bodies, smooth and tight;
Erased stretch marks and cellulite.

Flawless, poreless faces glowing,
Not a line or blemish showing.
Eyes and teeth are whitened, brightened,
Cheekbones contoured, jawlines tightened.

Plumped and pouty lips abound,
Rounded bubble butts astound.
Provocative, contorted posing
Taunt and flaunt in skin-tight clothing.

Workouts, pills, restrictive diets,
You can look like this - just try it.
Makeup, supplements, and creams;
We'll profit from your beauty dreams.

Insidiously, this toxic stream
Eats away our self-esteem,
So when we take in our reflection,
All we see is imperfection.

That Marie Kondo would have a conniption
If she were to open the drawer in my kitchen.
A search of this drawer isn't for the faint-hearted.
You'll want to give up though your quest's barely started.

There's a watch with only one working hand,
A hundred and seventy-three rubber bands,
Various screws and bolts and the like,
A bike puncture kit (though we haven't a bike),
An assortment of batteries most likely dead -
Put back in the drawer just to mess with your head,
A used birthday candle half melted and icky,
A sticky lint roller that's ceased being sticky,
An old dog collar that's long been outgrown,
A cat toy that gets no reaction when thrown,
The kettle manual that I've kept 'cause I oughta -
In case we forget how to boil the water,
A disposable lighter that no longer lights,
A superglue tube with the cap glued on tight,
A cracked ping pong ball, a stretched hair elastic -
Throwing them out must have seemed a bit drastic,
A chopstick, a Chapstick, some moist(?) towelettes,
Mismatched shoelaces, a mix-tape cassette,
Old chargers and earbuds - hopelessly tangled,
Sunglasses that were scratched but are now also mangled,
Blank bits of paper that once were receipts,
Mysterious keys and spare golf shoe cleats,
Takeaway menus with five year old prices,
Remote controls for long gone devices,
Hex keys galore courtesy of IKEA,
Adaptors and cords (what they're for...no idea),
Lens cleaning cloths that look none too clean,
And old copper coins that have turned somewhat green.

Each time the drawer's opened, I'm filled with disgust
At the mess and the chaos. Oh why don't I just
Clear out all this junk, toss it all in the bin?
Then I wrestle it closed...poking cables back in.