Misfire and Getaway

The archer gripped his trusty bow,
drew an arrow,
let it go,

accidentally struck a cow,
and, fearing it might cause a row,
he took a rather hasty bow,
and disappeared into the crowd,
whose cheers by then had grown so loud,
no one heard him throw his bow
into the bow of his boat or no-
tice as he took up oar and oar,
to row, row, row to the opposite shore.

He tied up his boat,
mounted his horse
(who was surprised to see him so soon, of course)
and rode off down the road.

He never did return again.
And so he never knew that when
the farmer pulled the arrow out,
the cow was perfectly fine.

Banished from the Bakery

The morning rolls were oh so nice,
I asked the baker for advice.

"To fluffy up your daily bread, you need to kneed the dough," he said.

"I see," I said. "And how do they rise, just so to this specific size?"

"The yeast!" he said. "You knead it through. And then the bread knows what to do."

"It does?" I asked, a bit confused.
(That bread could "know" to me was news.)

"Of course it does!" he spat right back
(as if I'd made a rude attack).

Seeing the look of hurt in his eyes, I did my best to apologize.

But the damage was done.
The baker stormed off.

Then, clearing his throat with a dignified cough,
"It does!" he declared, and SLAMMED the door.

I don't go to that bakery any more.

The Daring Young Waiter on the Flying Trapeze

Without spilling a pea from a bowl full of peas,
or losing a slice from a plate piled with cheese,
the daring young waiter on the flying trapeze
sailed over our heads with the greatest of ease,
a look on his face of absolute peace,
each hair of his mustache painstakingly greased.
At the pinnacle of his swing, we all gasped.
He released!
Then flipped five or six times!
(I wasn't quite able
to be sure of the count.)
He landed at our table.
Bravo! We all cheered.
And though the menu was weird,
I'd come back anytime for such service.

The Ultimate Race

My rival and I,
We traded the lead,
As up hills and down hills we sped.
First he,
and then I,
and then again he
overtook the leader
and led.

But on the last uphill, he passed me once more.
And as he did he said,
"How much do you want this?"
That was it!
Six words!
Like the arrow to Achilles' heel when he bled.

The fire in my heart
That had fueled me from the start
went out.
My legs felt like lead.
With astonishing speed,
I lost my lead.
My rival, he raced on ahead.
And as I faded back
into the pelaton pack,
His words spun round and around in my head:

How much did I want this?

Not enough was my answer.
And that's why I became
a dancer
instead.

The Herring Plate in the Bering Strait

We were bearing straight
through the Bering Strait,
when I looked at my watch.
It was nine fifty eight!
I asked our waiter why our food was so late.
"It isn't," he said, and delivered our plate
of herring
for sharing.
Oh, boy! Was it great!
Freshly caught.
Piping hot.
Without question - worth the wait!

Why not buy a new gnu?

If I knew then what I know now,
I'd never buy a new gnu.

I love my gnu. I really do.

But for the price of two new gnus,
You can buy six or seven gnus used.

And even if the odd one's bruised,
You'd still have a working herd.

That's at least what I have heard.

The Sloppy Patron

The sloppy patron had the guile
To leave a sticky, stinky pile
Of empty wrappers in the aisle
Right there beside his feet.
(And two rows behind me).

No one could pass
Around or through.
And none of us knew what to do,
Until the ushers came and threw
It out,
and with it, you know who.
(I sneaked this photo from my seat...)