I had several culprits to blame for this: Had I been less than conscientious washing my hands after feeding and inspecting sheep? Did the woman I buy the paper from every day infect me? Should I not have eaten month-old cauliflower, covered in questionable cheese? None of these, it turns out. My own father did this to me. It is always the family . . .

Okay, enough stalling. With a thousand (or maybe 10,000 Maniacal) apologies to Natalie Merchant, I present my song:

FILL THE BUCKET
The color of the skin that I am in is corpse gray
lift my head from my pillow and heave again
with a shiver in my bowels just thinking about my bucket
a quiver in my guts as if I might die

Well by the force of flu my bucket’s filled and so I heave
lately it seems this puking will never end
shiver in my bowels just thinking about my bucket
a quiver in my guts as if I might die

What a rank and heaving day
where on earth is my health hid away

I feel the pound of a midnight run, I’m too late
puking here in the hall my face burning shame
with a shiver in my bowels just thinking about my bucket
a quiver in my guts as if I might die

Do I need someone
here to hold me or do I need someone
who’ll f**king shoot me
put me out of this misery
sinking deathward

It is such a long time since my better days
afternoons spent healthy, not puking guts away

The color of the skin that I am in is corpse gray
lift my head from my pillow and heave again
with a shiver in my bowels just thinking about my bucket
a quiver in my guts as if I might die

What a cold and smelly day
as if I’ve died and rotted away
I shiver, quiver, and puke again

Okay, enough of that. The pillow calls and I seem to have a sheen of sweat back upon my brow, cold and greasy. My stomach churns, starting to burn, feeling queasy. Oh yeah, happy days are here again. I am NOT supposed to get sick on sunny days, dammit!

Stare into the noonday sun
and feel the heat upon me
These days I know a woman who’s turned me ’round
crazy and beautiful and much more scary
she steals my heart away.
Days pass by and I wonder
will she become just memories too?
Or is this what I’ll look upon
years from this time now
and realize these feelings
are the ones that do not fade away.

Yes you’re beautiful
and I love you so
Too bad I have to lie
and never tell you though

If the truth sets you free
I’ll spend my life in slavery
Fearful of what you’d say
or what you thought of me

You are so beautiful
it hurts to know
I always want to hold you
but I cannot do so

You’ll never be mine,
I’ll always be yours
silently waiting
for a love that doesn’t know

Destroy me, caress me
Set me free, please
I don’t know how much longer
I can live with thoughts like these

Yes you’re beautiful
and I love you so.

Giving it a lick,
the base of my hand is prepared
for the requisite salt dash.

All is ready now:
My salted hand, a shot, and lime.
I pause and take a quick breath.

When I was younger,
the shot would have been Cuervo Gold
or something equally harsh.

I am older now,
and have learned that a tequila
needn’t be a punishment.

Lips to salted hand,
I lick, anticipating now
the mix of flavours coming.

The shot glass tipped back,
tequila spreads across my tongue
and then I swallow slowly.

Biting the lime wedge,
my center fills with spreading warmth
and I prepare the next shot.

the girl has it too
which end is exploding now?
working from home sucks

“Blissful Sleep”
Lonely, horny, waiting for morning
your snoring is boring
I want to sleep again
but I can’t.

A freight train in bed
thund’rous snores again
and me without earplugs
to stick in my head.

Have you considered sleeping
standing on your feet,
lying in the tube
or out on the street?

Good god, woman!
How does a sound so large
come from a hole so small?
—

“My irritating children”
Won’t they go to sleep?
Wand’ring children
should be counting sheep.

Please please please
won’t you settle down?
My sweet demon-spawn
you’re wearing me out.

That last nerve
is so very raw
I’m about ready to chase you
with my reciprocating saw.

If only I could find
an extension cord
long enough.
Damn, why didn’t I
go cordless?
—

Thank you, thank you all! But please, hold your applause for now. I have two more before this nightmare ends . . .

“Pooetry”, or “Inspiration From the World of Children’s Literature”
I need to poo
Oh, I need to poo
How about you?
Do you need to poo?

’cause . . . everything poos!
in the toilet
on the floor
or all over your shoes!
Yeah!- we all have to poo.

Whether dropping
the wife and kids
off at the pool,
dropping anchor,
blowing an o-ring,
or passing some stool
we all love to POO!

Spending some time
alone in the library
a good book
and some cool porcelain
oh yeah, squattin’ here
until my legs both go numb.
—

And now, we’re down to one. This magical way with words, this, um, word-way or whatever, must be what inspired the National Poetry Society to award me $50 all those years ago for a poem I neither wrote nor submitted.

“Melancholy Shell”
You don’t really love me
you don’t really care
the distance keeps growing
the emptiness blowing
through the spaces we shared

I love you forever
lasted a year
I want you forever
just not here

Empty spaces, empty lives
and empty in between
was it me or was it you
was there anything I could do?
or was it over
when I met you?
—

Okay, now you can clap. And send cash. Thank you.

You are not my friend
nor my confidant
if you can’t find me
the beer I want.

So run on home
now that’s an order
and don’t return
without Kona Moon Porter!

I need the beer that makes me strong
the beer that leaves me weak
the sobering beer
so full of good cheer
I could drink it all week.

(Okay, I was pushing things a bit there using homonyms at the end. I am not a poet, dammit!)

(more from the boy . . .)
The lion’s more vicious
and finds you delicious
regardless of whether
you serve meat with your tea.

what’s the point of being online
when you’ve nothing left to do?
my boss has left me all alone
for the past month or two

and so I wait
and wait and wait
and when I’m done
I’ll wait some more

outside it’s warm and sunny
inside it’s hot and stuffy
my fan does not approximate
the cooling breeze I want

there’s got to be more to do today
than sit
and surf
and masturbate