Sunday Haiku: Mother Nature, Exterior Decorator

 
November rain through
the cottonwoods brings us a
new yellow carpet.

Sunday Haiku: An August Gathering

August: summer yet
blooms amidst decay.  Autumn
looms, unstoppable.

 

Sunday Haiku: First World Problems

Beach house. Open floor
plan. Thin walls.  Hollow core doors.
Good luck sleeping in.

Sunday Haiku: Comb Sherpa

The comb in my back
pocket isn't for me.  I
have two sons with hair.

Sunday Haiku: Headphone Pastanalogies

Headphone wires shaped like
linguine, not spaghetti
tangle a lot less.

Sunday Haiku: Cousins

The youngest often
Ends up saying guys guys guys
The oldheads ignore

Sunday Haiku: It Smells Bleu in Here

Gorgonzola.  You

eat it alone whether you

start alone or not.

Sunday Haiku: Fall Fashion

September is like
a slow, welcome reunion
with my long sleeve shirts.

Sunday Haiku: Design for the Masses

Is there anything
more fun to buy at Target
than wrapping paper?

Sunday Haiku: Summer Pests

The kitchen smells like
Raid.  Ants in the cupcakes won't
be tolerated.

Sunday Haiku: Nap, interrupted

I can't take a good
nap in this house unless it's
completely empty.

Sunday Haiku: Tradeoffs

Poetry doesn't
pay.  Contract murder bankrupts
my soul.  What to do?*


*This poem has no basis in my reality.  It came to me fully formed as a wacky idea for, say, a movie plot.  Starring, say, Luke Wilson and Zooey Deschanel.  No need to forward this link to any authorities. 

Sunday Haiku: Hypo Con Man

He sure grimaces

when he remembers which part

of his body hurts

Sunday Haiku: Planning Ahead

My midlife crisis

car will be a black Volvo

P Eighteen Hundred.

Sunday Haiku: Education Funding

The wise stifle coughs
while counting their schools' box tops
for education.

Sunday Haiku: Now that's good looking

My son's good-looking,
but he's not good at looking.
Dude!  Your hat's right here!

Sunday Haiku: First Base?

I still like it when

she holds my hand, even if

it's just to warm hers.

Sunday Haiku: Retromail

We've known each other a 
long time when you email me
at Yahoo.com.

Sunday Haiku Plus: Kid-unfriendly Sinks

Why don't kid-friendly
places have kid-friendly sinks?
Dad!  I can't get soap!


I took the boys bowling recently and encountered something that drives me bats: in the bathroom, my five-year-old could reach the faucet, but he had no hope of reaching the soap.  Of course, almost no one operates a bowling alley on its own.  This place in the 'burbs has an arcade and snack bar and laser tag.  We were there during what turned out to be afternoon cosmic bowling with crazy lights and disco balls and music videos by exclusively teen recording artists.  It's totally family-oriented and hosts several birthday parties a day. 

Why wouldn't a place like that have sinks that enable little kids to reach?  Museums oriented to children tend to be no better.  Teddy could at least reach the faucet and bowl in this one.  Many times that's even a challenge.  I have only seen in one museum bathroom clever, fixed, fold-down step stools under a few of the sinks that get a child to the level where he/she can reach everything.  Having a few four-dollar Ikea stools kicking around isn't the worst idea, either, but almost no one does it.

Of course, when I pick up the child or the child does the tiny climber routine, the counter against which we necessarily lean tends to be covered in that slurry of soap and water that bedevils most public bathroom counters.  Then the slurry, of course, finds its way onto my clothes or the child's clothes.

To quote Gob Bluth: come on!

Sunday Haiku: Labor Supply

How do parents who
don't go to church meet teen-age
girls who babysit?