Cheesy Four-Line Poem

Thro' edam'pest night with wind and brie's
Amber't a muensters' caravane on stilton
The goudamm feta'd stench displease --
Best rennet ye, an' sbrinz wi' yer kilt on!

One-Ton Dooley

A highway stop, a roadhouse bar, and I was feelin' dry
Though why I had to pick that place -- I should-a driven by
A hairy, open-carry drunk was gettin' coarse and venom-y
It was my great misfortune that he took me for his enemy
The sumbitch snarled, "So, yer feelin' lucky with yer luck?"
I said a thing, I think it might-a rhymed with "pick-up truck"
Then the pushin' got to shovin', and things got a bit unruly --
Now I'm headin' for a last ride in my One-Ton Dooley.

They drove me to the sick-house with a bullet in my gut
Ridin' shotgun ain't as special when your belly ain't quite shut
The doctor told me, "I'm afraid it's way beyond some stitches,
You'll prob'ly see the afterlife, thanks to them sons-a-bitches!"
They called my next-of-kin, an' my kid brother came a-cryin'
I said, "Yer better listen up, 'cause I'm a-busy dyin' --
An' then we'll say goodbye, bro, 'cause I'll hardly hear yer Eul'y
From a Number 7 casket in my One-Ton Dooley!

"I never stand on principle, don't write no fancy verse,
I never saw the purpose of a chrome-bedecker'd hearse --
Why spend yer dough on transport when a good ol' truck'll do?
Keep the coffin lid wide open so that I can see the view.
The highway's full-a pretty sights while yer above the ground,
Just set me on a rubber mat so's I don't slide around,
Then drop me in a shady spot -- that's all I want, most truly! --
Salute me with a lawn-job made by my beloved Dooley.

"The moral of my story: Stay away from stinkin' drink!
Never hassle with an ass'le; never wrassle with a fink.
Keep yer fenders clean an' polished, keep yer tires full-a air --
Yer never know just when yer need to peel out-a there!
Don't spend yer money stupidly on luxuries and such;
Take all I got -- now on, I won't be needin' very much.
To my nephews, give my Stetsons; to my nieces, all my jewl'y --
They'll be stylin' in the way-back of my One-Ton Dooley!"

Copyright 2011 Bob Wait

I Am So, So Sorry For This

          A second soprano named Betty
          Races camels on the Serengeti.
          When she trills 'top a hump
          At the steeplechase jump --
          It sure beats a plate of spaghetti!

Double Helix

          I went to squash a bug today
          It saw my form and flew away
          Preserving for another day
          Its double helix (DNA)

          I couldn't help but wonder why
          For usually I get my fly
          With stealth, dispatch, and steely eye
          Passed down through the milleni-i

          But on this day my strike was slow
          Or just a bit too high or low
          Thus saving my intended foe
          From crippling force of mighty blow

          The reflexes are not as keen
          As when I was a scrawny teen --
          Or had the bug evolved a gene
          And thus was my appendage seen?

          A thousand generations hence
          Some mutant fly with sharpened sense
          Grows fangs, and then comes back at me
          To snack upon my six-foot-three

          I doubt that I could self-defend
          And thus it's to a sticky end
          And all because upon this day
          It saw my form and flew away

          © 2010 Bob Wait

Schrödinger's Dishwasher

For your consideration: an everyday kitchen appliance -- perhaps very much like one in your kitchen -- that's both clean and dirty at the same time:

          Beloved Spousal Unit: "Is the dishwasher clean?"
          Me: "No, I just emptied it. It's dirty now."

At the instant I said that our dishwasher was "dirty" -- and spoke truthfully -- it didn't have a spot of dirt in it. This pristine, yet fallen state would continue for a few more blissfully ambiguous moments until I fouled the nest, defiling our beloved Putzmaschine with the first crumb-stuck breakfast plate and stained coffee mug of the day.

This ambiguous state of our pre-pastried power-scrubber is related to the Physics conundrum known as "Schrödinger's Cat":

          Schrödinger's Cat's a metaphorical cat
          It lives in a box with a nuclear vat
          When a nucleus decays, a loaded gun is released
          And although the box hides it, the cat is deceased
                    ...or is it?
                                                            -t.s. eliot

To the outside world, the cat is unobservable as it waits for the ax to fall; it's unobservable after the ax has fallen. In some external sense, the cat is both dead and alive at the same time.

Or, consider the moment of any creature's demise. Let's say there is one last atom left in a cat's Central Nervous System that has kept the cat alive; for surely there must be a last one, as there must have been a first one. It's down to its ninth life, as it were, and it's the bottom of the ninth with two outs and two strikes. We know from the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle that the exact position and state of a particle are mutually indeterminate. Is our beloved kitty dead or alive at the indeterminate moment of the last atom's expiration? Or both?

Notwithstanding any of this, our feline friend clearly picked the wrong box to crawl into; it should have selected our dishwasher instead (or else the curtain where Carol Merrill is standing). It might have gotten clean, it might have gotten dirty, or both; but it surely wouldn't have fallen into the clutches of that horrific sadist Erwin Schrödinger, the mere mention of whom, properly framed, could lift PETA's Freshman Orientation Week fund drive to goal immediately.

I saw the following headline recently: "World's Oldest Person Dies".

Not any more.

* * *

UPDATE: Since writing this piece, I Googled "Schrödinger's Dishwasher" to see if Google had indexed the article yet. What I found instead surprised me: one metaphorical variation on Schrödinger's Cat is indeed called Schrödinger's Dishwasher! Imagine dirty dishes inside a dishwasher; then, imagine an atomic switch for the dishwasher whereby the electrical circuit is closed, and the appliance starts, when the atom decays. Are the dishes inside clean or dirty? Or both? It's an equivalent dilemma to the classic metaphor involving an atomic-triggered gun, except that no animals were harmed. Hooray animals!

          It would be such a pity
          If we bumped off the kitty!

My Best Shel Silverstein Impression

          Blur My Eyes
         
          Off to work, and to and fro
          Thinking of the world I know
          Blur my eyes, what do I see?
          Monkeys on computers, three!
         
          Steve works in an office tower
          Trades for profit, hour by hour
          Tracks the markets on his screens
          Makes no difference what it means
          Makes a killing, takes a loss
          Gets an earful from his boss
          Dreams of what his money buys
          Caffeine junky, bleary eyes
          Doesn’t look like too much fun –
          Monkey on computer, one!
         
          Joan sends email to her boys
          They don’t answer, she makes noise
          Plans their childhood, day by day
          Keeps the demon Sloth away
          Blocks them from the unapproved
          Monitors their every move
          Now they’re gone and she has fits
          Waiting for their bytes and bits
          Not a lot that she can do --
          Monkey on computer, two!
         
          Mike’s a blogger, has his say
          Vents his rage most every day
          Posts a comment, writes a screed
          That precious few will ever read
          Thinks the opposition’s bad
          Finds a reason to get mad
          Word by word, his time is spent
          Chasing fifty-one percent
          Blur my eyes, what do I see?
          Monkey on computer, three!
         
          We’re all primates, goodness knows
          All tethered up in even rows
          All trying not to get the boot
          All dressed up in our monkey suit
         
          But real monkeys play in trees
          And hang out with the birds and bees
          Smelling flowers, munching berries
          Raising babies, small and hairy
          Scrounging for enough to eat
          Napping in the midday heat
          Swinging from a bamboo pole
          Splashing at the water hole
         
          While we’re all sitting, desk and chair
          Forgetting there’s a world out there
          Blur my eyes, what do I see?
          Monkeys -- luckier than me!
         
          © 2010 Bob Wait

Hockey Central

          Announcer Man says,
          We take you now to Hockey Central
          For an update.

          Hockey Central.
          Sounds like a magical place
          With colors and speed and slashing blades
          And fresh air wafting off the ice.

          Do you need a passport to go there?
          What kind of food do they grow there?
          What’s the exchange rate with the Euro there?
          I think about these things.

          When they update you in Hockey Central,
          Are you fully informed on the issues,
          Or do they leave you wondering why?
          Does the First Amendment apply?

          Lighten up, you say;
          It’s just for fun, you say;

          Well if that’s so,
          If it’s all about the play,
          Then why’s that puckhead coach
          So angry in the face?
          Always getting on the ref’s case.
          Is his necktie on too tight?
          Did he lose too many fights?
          Did he forget how to pass, how to shoot, how to skate?

          Maybe he needs to go to Hockey Central
          For an update.


          [Revised 8/23/2018]

Love You, Honey!

          De Sue-Bee beekeeper needs bee-doo
          Doin' Sue-Bee from bee-doo's his cree-doo
          When de bee-doo be new Sue
          Den he redo de cree-doo
          Den de cree-doo be "Redo de bee-doo!"