Spoiled Dinner

FILET mignon for my birthday sits
DULLY on my plate, uneaten as an
IRATE customer nearby rages about service and
NOSEY spectators pull out their phones to record.

(Forgot to post when I wrote this a number of days ago.)

Parenthood

SCAREs me how, looking back at it, that
RIGHT from the start, with our without preparedness, this
IRATE baby is my absolute responsibility, flying in the
ORBIT of my every thought and action.

Aging

GAUNT, arthritic man speaking in the
SLANG of his youth can’t
ROUSE himself beyond nostalgia,
UNITEd in shared slavery to time, unthinkable.

The Curse

AMAZEment spread across his face.
BINGO! he said to himself, the
MUMMY perfectly preserved and … that’s
WEIRD, did its finger just twitch?

Newlywed

BRIDE delighted to now have a
TILDE in her new last name.
LOWER expectations once never imagined she’d
REVEL every time she hears “Mrs. Nuñez.”

The Trekkie

HORDE of stylish teens, then there’s
LOSER me in my JC Penny clearance rack getup and a
GUSTO for Star Trek trivia,
PRONE to wax eloquent on Kirk vs. Picard greatness comparisons.