Well, it seems to me like a day for something silly. The two poems below are vaguely connected. The first one was written for the newsletter of a particularly odious job I had in the early 1980s. They were manufacturers of "fine wallpapers," and there was some kind of apple theme going on at the time, I think, that inspired the topic. Like many jobs over the course of my "career," it was hard for them to keep me busy and I ended up doing parts of everyone else's job, not getting paid for it and being bored and unhappy.
AN APPLE POMME
The snake said, "Please, just have a taste."
"If you don't eat, it will go to waste."
And Eve - only wanting to be polite
Consented to have just one small bite
And Adam, too, thought it couldn't hurt
To try such a very light dessert.
It wasn't even an apple pie
Which caused such fury in Heaven high
And sent that poor unhappy pair
Away from Eden in dark despair
But though they suffered, and so do we,
For eating the fruit of the apple tree
I can't entirely regret their act
Since it alone, in point of fact,
Introduced the two to carnal sin
Which causes babies to begin
And one baby leading to another
Eventually arrived my mother
Who, I am glad, gave birth to me
So, let's hear it for the apple tree
And before we at Eve too smugly jeer
Remember, without her we wouldn't be here.
- Katherine E. Rabenau
Shortly after "The Apple Pomme" was published, I took a bad fall that resulted in a severe green-stick fracture that nearly broke my small toe OFF my foot, broke two other toes, sprained an ankle, bruised my shoulder and just missed cracking my skull open. How did I manage this? Running away from a pair of cockroaches while standing on top of one of those step ladder/chair things. Hence the second poem in today's double silly poem presentation. I returned from my disability leave to find that the company had been "reorganized" and both of my bosses "phased out." I don't remember if they laid me off or if I quit. I do remember that they told me I was too qualified and too good at my job. The laid off boss called and offered me a big raise and a cool new job which it turned out he couldn't deliver. At the time it all seemed like the end of the world to me instead of the blessing in disguise that it turned out to be. But that's a story for another day. The short version is. I lived. I went into therapy and a tiny ray of sanity broke through a life-time of pure, unadulterated denial about how very insane my family was and how utterly unhappy and troubled I myself was. But this is Poem of the week day. SILLY poem of the week day.... enough serious talk.
QUIT BUGGING ME!
Out, out, damned roach, you wicked beast
How dare you in my kitchen feast
You creeping Fiend! You wretched foe!
I beg you from my kitchen go
And lodge with those who wish you well
Or, better yet, go strait to Hell
For you will find no welcome here
But me, all doubled up with fear
A rolled newspaper in one hand
And lots of bug spray - jarred or canned -
Fear's far more dangerous than hate
And death will be your awful fate
If you persist in bugging me
So I advise you now to flee
And find some other place to live
For pity I have none to give
To such unsavory types as you
And so I say to you, "Shoo! Shoo!"
Go somewhere else if you must poach
And hear again, "Out, out, damned roach."
- Katherine E. Rabenau