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.

 

Micropoetry Monday: Opposites

Scrabble & Sudoku
often got into word fights,
making it a numbers game,
but when they learned how
to relate to one another,
Algebra,
who confounded them both,
was born.

He wrote “How-To”,
she wrote “Who’s Who?”,
so she didn’t know how,
& he didn’t know who.

When Airhead met Egghead,
he put his yolk upon her,
& she whipped him into meringue.

Money was the only thing
that ever came between them:
he made not enough,
& she made too much.

They were two sides of a bad penny—
she was pigtails & ponytails,
he was an unwashed head
of lettuce,
but together they weren’t worth
one red cent.