Something for Everyone: Resecting at the Sunday Breakfast Table

Something for Everyone: Resecting at the Sunday Breakfast Table

Resection (noun): Surgery. The excision of all or part of an organ or tissue.

For the Swen family,
The Deseret Daily Dispatch was like a game of “Operation.”
There was the crossword for cross-eyed Aunt Luz,
who tended to scrabble when it came to Sudoku,
for her numbers were often puzzling.
Grandma Posy read the obituaries,
always saying she was going to be next.
Joey Bischoff, aged 12,
whose E.I. was higher than his I.Q.,
ate the Sports section & Wheaties for breakfast;
his Irish twin, Jackie Oh,
would read her horoscope with horror & fascination.
Janey Rebel, at 6,
much to her daddy’s chagrin,
liked making paper dolls out of the society pages,
or drawing moustaches on the women
& dresses on the men in the funnies.
Perusing the personals was Mrs. White, the maid,
who played matchmaker on herself.
Mr. Swen, the brooder of the brood—
the rooster of the roost—
treated the op-eds as an appetizer to the business section.
With a sniff,
he’d claim that all the opinions smelled
like the late Mrs. Swen’s cooking,
which she had let burn while she read Dear Libby
or Helen’s Household Hints—
advice she never took & hints she never got,
for her tombstone read:

Here lies Anna Fox Swen,
beloved mom & Mrs.,
who just wouldn’t listen.

 

Poem-a-Day Writer’s Digest Challenge #27. Theme: Falling Apart

The Murderous Yogi

Here lies Montgomery “Monty” Carlson,
millionaire extraordinaire,
and a whore’s worst nightmare;
your friendly neighborhood serial killer,
one community’s tall, white pillar;
a carnal vegan,
a yoga instructor,
his body a great conductor
(for electricity)—
as evidenced through his death in the chair.
He went out in a blaze of glory,
turning his novel life
into a short story.
May he rest in pieces—
just like his victims.

2016 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 27