Americans are so bad at death. Once someone dies it’s like they end up in a time capsule that is never questioned or discussed. Here’s a poem remembering somebody’s unpredictable sense of humor that flourished regardless. Click the arrows to read the next lines.
Here we are living in National Poetry month, so here is a quick little poem about humor that fits into a screenshot.
“I’m out painting and people ask what I’m doing. I tell them I’m painting. They look at the canvas and they look at me and they look at the canvas. “Really?” they ask. I don’t know what else they think I’m doing. “Yes, really.” – Lynn Rix, plein air painter in every season
Here is a funny video of my intense ice skating training today. Graceful like a gazelle I am!
The other day I got in the car and started to drive. I turned on the radio and heard myself talking, and for a brief moment was confused as to where and when I was. A poem I’d recorded years ago was speaking to me through the speakers. So long ago there is even a reference to the show Jersey Shore. Feel free to give a read below, but if you’d like to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth, visit the Lake Effect website.
You can’t debate with memory
or slow dance a regret
The music of my youth
will always mean more
than the music of yours
How does the insect population hope to support
the spider population in my garage?
The ape I am derived from is no more superior
than the ape you are derived from
Wearing a condom is called Presponsible
New Jersey is a Napoleonic abortion of style
The path of least resistance is
the path of least remembrance
Spend too long waiting
for the bigger shinier next better option and
they all fizzle to a firecracker dud
Never wait for a white-haired
limping mall security guard
to make you feel secure
