from a long work-in-progress
THE CHRONICLES OF BOSH -
A Fictitious History of the Occupancy of Prince George, Part the First. Mister Bosh longs for snack foods But Missus Bosh has put both beige pumps
Down on the imperial, red, wall-to-wall carpet.
And so, no twisted or straight; no mini or King;
No soft or crunchy; no plain, unsalted or honey mustard–
Yum! But Misses Bosh has set her sensible shoes
Down and stated:
Cranberries! You don't have to cough up feathers
If you don't keep birds in your room.
And you know the dogs cannot be trusted to respond
In an emergency. I'll bring you Jello.
And your wooden spoon.Missus Bosh kisses Mister Bosh's new boo-boo.
Mister Bosh salts his palm and licks in clean.
Thinks:
Not the same . Asks Missus Bosh:
Red?Missus Bosh scolds him with that smile.
As if I'd bring something blue or green–Mister Bosh stiffens in the chair. His helpful hump
Tingles. Incoming.
The green tastes exactly like broccoli.
They tried to serve that to my Dad.
Missus Bosh chides him with her other smile.
Yes, you have said so and often. So often Mister Bosh.But Mister Bosh has drifted off
And now he dreams of pretzel armies
Marching on the endless red imperial carpet.
Armies of pretzels and collateral snacks–
Popcorn, peanuts, chips–
Crushed together into the stained and shredding
Imperial red carpet.