Back in the Doghouse

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I’m in the doghouse again.

I have wounded my best friend.

I will have to be charming

to hold her hand again.

Maybe some flowers or money,

whatever it takes to get back my honey.

Life is too short, I fear:

come back to me, my dear.

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Ode to My Brother’s Retirement

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Bob, your job is done.

Time to relax, have some fun!

 

Try to be young, young at heart.

Try to forget: you are an old fart.

 

The bills will be due.

The tax man is lurking.

No worries–Marybeth is still working

 

Why work? What’s the point?

If it was me, I would smoke a joint.

 

Try to relax!

You and wifey can talk…

until she says, Bob please take a long walk.

 

Don’t get old, heavens above!

Stay the same:

The man we all love.

Camp Granada

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Hello mother, hello father,

I’m writing you from, Camp Granada.

The girls are cute here.

I like the food here.

I am happy, my mood is good here.

Hello mother, Hello father,

I”m missing you from, Camp Granada

I can swim here

I can grin here.

If they ask me to go home I’ll tell them no, dear.

Sunday Dinner

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When I’m the chef at Sunday dinner,
There’s not a chance of growing thinner.
White wine, small talk and cut the cheese,
Dip and crackers, meant to please.
A seafood starter, clams in butter,
“Good God that’s good!” I heard one utter.
Country ham sliced paper thin,
Scalloped potatoes so good they’ve sinned,
Asparagus with hollandaise,
Fold your hands, give God the praise,

But it was I who cooked this meal,
Shouldn’t I be the bigger deal?