On our last visit to see Mom in South Carolina,
She gave us some items--some nice, some not so fina. Some things she has had for years, Things that for some might evoke tears. Back in the 70's, Mom worked for Wartburg College, This Iowa college employed Mom to keep educators on the cutting edge. Somewhere along the way, she received a WC ashtray, Did they give it to her to encourage her to stay or go away? Mom didn't/doesn't smoke--wonder why it was in her effects, Made me wonder what I have that doesn't reflect my respects. What is it in your confines that would seem odd to others? Things you wouldn't buy--neither would your brothers. "Well, he wouldn't own that" someone might trumpet, If you shared that idea with a panel, you would stump it. My wife told me this AM to "throw it away", Maybe I should ask around--others might have a say. "Why, my brother went to Wartburg and he smokes a lot, In fact, on my sofa, he fell asleep smoking and left a spot." Who knows who I will hear from just because of this poem, I'll get back at those who just throw things out--I'll show 'em. Maybe I should look for a book about antiques at Borders, Or maybe just forget about it--I might become one of those horders. Keep your runway clear or the planes cannot take off, Too many ashtrays will clutter, might cause others to cough. Dave Hale Ottawa, Ks. 7/17/12 hale-agency.com
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AuthorDave likes to put together words to make poems. Sometimes the rhythms are great and sometimes they are a stretch. Either way they will make you think, make you laugh, make you wonder what's going on with Dave. :) Archives
December 2023
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