Thirty Seconds Of Pure Annoyance

 

Gently I try to coax you out

Gently not so gently

Because I can’t see past you

Because I can’t speak or listen or focus on anything but you

All encompassing you

The slight stinging

The teensy itching

Because my conversation has turned to twitching

Because you swallow an entire thirty seconds of my day

Thirty seconds of pure annoyance

Of prodding

Of rubbing

“Where are you? Where are you? Get out.”

Until with a blink you vanish

Gone into the crevasse of my lower lid

Where hundreds of lost eyelashes have gone to die.

 

JenniChiu

 

Take it, snot rag.

 

I’m going to start mainlining some immune system boosters because I don’t have time to be as sick as I am.  Hot Nerd is out of town on business for the next three days, my preschooler is making summer vacation his bitch, and our baby boy is recovering from the grossest, stinkiest, stomach bug ever.

I am a freaking super  hero right now.

I’m also so sick I want to cry for my mommy.

Here’s some spontaneous poetry that came out of my head once:

Brain compressed.

Mouth dry from hanging wide.

Stabbing behind the left eye.

Take it, snot rag…

take it.

When you multiply-

one on my nightstand,

two on my coffee table,

five on my counter,

I’ll try not to yell.

Just take it, snot rag…

take it.

If you find ways into my pocket,

and into my wash,

and leave pieces of you,

on everything I own,

I swear to look the other way.

Just take it, snot rag…

take it.

Take all that I have,

at 50 miles an hour.

It’s love/hate…

 

plus

aloe.

 

Preschool petri dish.

The little hand swipes across the nose.

The nose is wet and red and caked.

She giggles.

The hand waves.

The hand grabs.

The hand cups her mouth as she whispers in his ear.

He laughs.  She smiles.

The hand “high fives”.

The hand pats his back as they hug and jump.

A marble passes between them.

Her fingers swipe his as they part ways.

He comes home to me.

Sleepy hands meet sleepy eyes.

His hand caresses my face.

Stories and pinky swears…

the goodnight kiss of death.

Such is the dance

of the preschool petri dish.

 

 

 

 

Little Nubbin. (8 lines)

* A series of 8 line posts because of this one >> 8 mm 

*****

 

Ten perfect fingers.

Ten… toes.

I caress you several times a day.

Can I draw a little face on you please?

Little nubbin…

I’m starting to love you.

Shoes are dumb anyway.

I think we’ll keep you a little while longer.

 

 

 

 

 

Dreaming. (8 lines)

* A Series of 8 line posts because of this one >> 8 mm.

*****

 

Hot and heavy with my husband…

The carnival hay is itchy.

Then a thief out to mug me.

I lift my shirt to expose my weapon…

and squirt the robber in the eye with breast milk.

The gourd is explosive, and I can’t find the red wire.

Is it possible to dream…

without any sleep?