Back in the Doghouse


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.


Ode to My Brother’s Retirement


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


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


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?