The Itchy Bum Song

 

We all know it

Walking down the street on a rainy day

You feel that familiar twitch

We all know it but we don’t show it

It’s that shifty bum crack itch.

 

It starts in the middle with a little tickle

And it spreads out from there

You clench your cheeks but still it sneaks

Up and down your puckered derriere.

 

Your smile’s a rictus, the dread pruritus

Is causing you no pain

But if you don’t choose it, you’re going to lose it

And go completely insane.

 

You’re out of options, your anus throbbing

You crab-walk to a tree

The bears all do it, there’s nothing to it

They scratch for all eternity.

 

It’s a clear consensus, you’re not an ursus

Your butt continues to wail

Unless you’re right bent, there is no treatment

Quite like your fingernails.

A spider up the bell

A spider up the bell

A spider up the bell 

 Hi-ho, arachnid go 

 A spider up the bell

Cross orb weaver - YouTube

I could be lying

I could be lying When I am crying I could be telling tails Out of school Playing fast With the rules I could be, I could be But what are the odds That I'm a fraud? Well, that's a twist You'll have to risk If you want To be close to me And you'd better be ready For an aroma quite heady Coming from my poop and from my pee I'll lick my fur And I'll purr As I scratch your furniture 'Cause I'm a cat, I'm a brat (Some say twat, so there's that) And you'll never Ever Own me.

Planting native species

Farkas paused over the hole she'd just dug. It was about six inches deep and the water she'd poured in had started to percolate down into the soil. She sat back on her haunches and waited for it. A chickadee called off to her left, but chicka'd only two dees, so it wasn't upset, just chatty. When all the water was gone, she picked up a pot and up ended it over the hole, giving it gentle but firm pats all along the sides and bottom to loosen the soil.  She extracted the plant, a bloodroot, feeling the satisfying suction as it was loosed from the pot. She sprinkled mycorrhizal fungi all over the roots, popped it in the hole, and centred it. She heaped the soil around the plant, pressing down gently and making a small well. She watered again. Again she sat back on her haunches, and tapped the pot to get the last of the soil out. 

He'd gone to high school with her. He'd been an asshole even then. He'd grown into an even larger puckered buttpit when he went into real estate and eventually, opened his own development firm, his only aim in life to make money. 

Hard to believe they still hadn't found him yet. 

Who knew?

 Written June 26, 1989

Sssszzt! And the metal ring snaps open and tiny Don Ho bubbles fill up the air space above.

"Don't shush me" and I guzzle, faster than I should, ginger acids my nose hairs.

"Ow, ooo, oh!" Pain, not-so-pain, return to steady state.

I set the aluminum can down and open another before the first one is done with.

The spriting schpritzes rush about to & fro, here & there.

"Slow down, slow down."

Who knew?

Who knew that the sex we had with

    air conditioners,

    made in Japan,

    for Canadian winters

Would lead to this? This hole I cannot see above my head?

I tip both cans upside down on linoleum and gently place them in the blue box.

The Fantastic Aerial Odyssey of José-Antonio, or "Pennies in December"

Pennies in December

Coins in ice that don't let

Just anyone pick 'em up.

Half-smoked cigarettes

Lip-stick tainted

Pressed against cold lips, thin

"Ain't nothing like a good drag."

"Heard the grocery store's dumping bananas."

Throwing away everything that isn't beautiful.

Even pennies in December.