Hair
There once was a girl in Barbados
Who envied her sister’s hair.
She herself wasn’t pretty,
As plain as a pear,
Oh, but she wished herself fair.
In town she heard tale of a witch
Who lived somewhere south in her lair.
It was said she had magic
Most others would scare,
But a wish she could grant, if you dared.
So off in the night the girl went
And found the old witchdoctor’s lair.
“Oh please,” said she,
“My own hair is dull,
And my sister’s cannot be compared!”
The witch coughed a throaty old laugh
And winked an odd eye at her plea,
“Bring her,” said she,
“It’s a simple revision,
If you give me a proper fee.”
“I’ve nothing to give,” said the girl in tears,
“I’ve no gift nor coin to offer.
Is there anything else,
Some food, or some wine,
I can give you instead to be proper?”
“Never mind gifts,” the witchdoctor answered,
“I’ve no use for coins or meals.
Some wine would be nice,
But not for this vice,
When you come, I will ask for my deal.”
So back the girl went to her sister
And sought out the witch the next night.
“What are we doing?”
Asked the dear sister,
“It’s cold and these woods are a fright!”
They soon found the witchdoctor’s hut,
And saw she made two straw dolls.
“These are for you,”
The witchdoctor chuckled,
“Now watch as I fix your qualm!”
They jumped as she tore the straw heads
And switched the dolls’ bodies anew.
Their own heads followed suit,
And they screamed a high tune,
Throats crooked and stitched all askew.
“Now for my fare,” the witchdoctor heckled,
“You’ve gotten your beautiful hair.
All I ask is your service,
From now till the End,
Until Death meets me, if He dares.”
Crunch, glumph
Once upon a time there was a boy who ate rocks. No one could stop him. He ate small rocks, big rocks, medium rocks. Yellow rocks, red rocks, black rocks. It didn’t matter, if he saw a rock he would eat it.
His mother would tell him, “Johnny don’t eat that rock.”
“Crunch, glumph.” He would say.
It went on like that for years. Doctors were perplexed. How could a boy subsist primarily on rocks? What was his unique biology and physiology that allowed such an extreme diet?
It turned out he was a sock puppet. The end.
UNCLE MORT’S LAST GAME
You’re here just in time; they’re in the middle of the last hand. I’m Santo Antinori, and that’s my uncle Mort ‘Rip’ Calabrese on the right and Alphonso ‘Mad Dog’ DeSteffino on the left. They’re both in their late seventies, they both look exhausted.
They’ve been rivals for over forty years; a game of poker is war to them. Agreeing to play heads-up, each bought in with $150,000.00. They’ve been at four hours now and best I can determine Uncle Mort’s ahead by around $75,000.00.
Both were permitted old age retirement by the boss of the ‘Lias Family’ Big Bill, here in Wheeling. Not only did they retire with his blessings, but both as millionaires.
The pot is hot; it’s Uncle Mort’s bet, and look. He just forced Mad Dog all-in. The final down card is being dealt by the hired dealer, and it’s all over but the shouting and cursing.
The rules say the last to bet must call his cards, place them face up on the table, while the opponent either lays down topping him, or folds. The winner can now rake in his winnings.
Before my eyes, Uncle Mort picks up his last card, jumps up from his chair, starts to speak, but falls to the floor, cards clutched in his left hand.
Running to him, I kneel, it appears that he’s had a stroke. I grab his cards, stand and announce a full house, Kings over Jacks.
Mad Dog slapped three aces on the table and laughing, starts to scrape in the pile of chips.
Stop! The dealer yells, “the rules say you must announce your cards first.” I look at a table with $300,000.00 in chips, who is the owner? This folk is a $300,000.00 conundrum.
#RWF
Teddy
The nice lady in kindergarten asked us to draw our best friend.
Tom drew Will. Anna drew Flora. Hannah drew her big brother. Peter drew his dad.
I drew Teddy.
Tom looked at my drawing and said we were supposed to draw a friend, not a favorite toy. Will laughed. Nice lady told me to try again.
They called Teddy ugly.
His fur was gray, the buttons of his tiny sweater falling off. He had only one eye, one slightly burnt ear, and the red heart he used to hold was torn, leaving only threads and cotton wool behind.
But Teddy’s really pretty. How could they all not see? He’s prettier than Anna, who everyone says is prettiest in class. His sweater is more fashionable than nice lady’s summer dress and big sparkly earrings!
Teddy spends time with me. His eye shines and reflects my face like a funny mirror. His paws hug me when no one else does. His ears listen to my trouble which adults don’t understand.
Dad tried to take him away from me, but Teddy stayed like a great friend. He threw Teddy to the angry dogs and tried to flush him in the toilet. He hid Teddy on the highest shelf and dropped him from the window. Once he set Teddy’s ear on fire. He says Teddy doesn’t let me move on. He says he’s scary to have around. He says Teddy’s making me crazy.
But Teddy survived it all and always came back. He told me not to worry. He said Dad’s just angry because he cannot hear him. I can understand. If I couldn’t hear Teddy, I’d be angry too. I’d miss him a lot, just like Dad does.
I wish Dad could hear Teddy. But he doesn’t believe when I tell him to try. Teddy says it’s an adult problem. If that’s true, I don’t want to grow up. I would never want to lose my best friend.
Once it was raining, and Dad took me to the graveyard. I jumped through the puddles, having lots of fun, but he told me to be quiet. We walked through a small alley under a pretty tree with red flowers.
Dad kneeled next to a stone with candles on it. Why was he staring at it like that?
I tried to put together the letters, like the nice lady taught us.
T-E-D-D-Y B-R-O-O-K-S D-I-E-D 18 A-P-R-I-L 2015
Dad pulled me closer and told me a story about my little brother who died in a fire. All of his toys burnt, except one tiny bear.
Teddy said I’ll join him one day too.
I am Thankful for.....
Jesus the Christ who saved a wretch like me.
My mother who has always had my back and who always will love me no matter what I do.
My two beautiful daughters who showed me that I can love unconditionally.
Being a non hodgkin's lymphoma survivor because I realized a strength I didn't know I had.
Grace that I do not deserve but everyday is a new day to experience His grace and mercy towards me.