Tuesday, August 10, 2010

A Pretty Perfect Saturday - Bad rhyming poem #3

[spoiler alert: the following deigns to confuse with rashers of bacon eaten and hebrew words spoken; also, no capitals where used in the writing of this ditty]

a pretty perfect saturday involves brunch
brunch because it's not quite breakfast, it's not quite lunch
also, simpsons quotes aside, there should be no breakfast on the day god commanded us to rest

and rest we shall
to laze in morning beds reading books, surfing nets or channel changing our tv sets
better still when we've unplugged our urges and opened our beaded curtains
to gaze from our pillows at the whispering rustlings of weeping willows
dazing long and lush, rushing nowhere
shnuggling our heads into the crooks and crannies of our beloveds instead

a pretty perfect saturday brunch is a shared event
halving an order of pancake sweet with eggs, homefries and salty meat
the endless coffee need not be gourmet
but it best not be a latte
the seats, though, they should be padded diner booth
good too if the joint be slightly uncouth

a pretty perfect saturday good friends the opposite side of that booth will adorn
friends that wear no masks on a Saturday morn
friends that can laugh and raise their cup
friends that deep talk as they overdo it with the ketchup

when all the grease's been sopped and the marmalade toast done
when the last of the bacon rashers have wiped up the egg yolk run
and hands are covering mugs so can you not bear the thought of another cup
that's when you know
it's time to go

a long stroll is here ideal
preferably toward a park with ravine, forest and so much green you forgot you're in a city
ain't it pretty
the dirty path underfoot
the sweet sun trying to get between the sukkah close leaves of those maple trees

one, two hours after noon now
reemereged from the enchanted forest
hugged and kissed your friends adieu
a nap the inevitable thing to do

but a shloff don't have to sleep mean
lovemaking and novel reading would not here be obscene
only tv, telephone and the internet could fuck the afternoon up
it is the sabbath after all; amen; baruch hashem

after that?
it don't much matter
rested and good
you can take on the world again
you've unwound your spring
you're ready to do your thing

2 comments:

  1. Anonymous12:42 PM

    lovely

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you for your anonymous love. So mysterious, yet still so nice. Like sugar and spice.

    ReplyDelete

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