With thanks and apologies to Fugwozzle and his Large Sicilian Family on the Metric Board.

<u>The Dream of Michael Corleone</u>

I want an inoffensive family -
not too large or small -
no obvious ethnicity;
ideally, none at all.

My cousins, uncles, aunts and I
will meet on holidays
to dine on slabs of apple pie,
white bread and mayonnaise.

The men play cards for chewing gum
The women do the dishes
If some gavone asks where we're from,
he'll soon sleep with the fishes.


Michael


[This message has been edited by Michael Cantor (edited June 26, 2002).]

"Just when I think I'm out--they pull me back in!"

Michael, good one! The way to whack those stupid stereotypes Sicilians have had to abide for so many years.

Ciao,

------------------
Ralph

Apologies to Bob Dylan and the Hip Hop community...

TALKIN' FREEWRITE FLAMMABLE BLUES

Woke up this morning in a Restoril fog
With a synapse lapse in cerebral smog
And by the second dose of caffeine I wished I'd stayed fuzzy
The anchor morons were headlining Tiger because he
Doesn't give a damn that women aren't allowed
To play in the Masters' though the same bigot crowd
Kept his father and his father off the greens for years
That California girl was dead, they said, and the dread fed fears
Of Hispanic men who lurk around schools
Then they took a short breath and went on about fools
Who say that the market's surviving
I checked my SEP, it just keeps diving
Into depths that are chilly but it's silly to go on
And on about it, when it's such a big con
And no stripes are set out for the suits at Enron
So I put on my makeup and I would have looked cute
But the lights went out then the morons went mute
The computer whined off and the air went dead
And I ran from the dark house with a far from cool head
Late to a session to fix someone's depression
And I knew fate was messin' with me when I saw "empty"
On the gas gauge face and I had to race
To the place where I buy my Shell and all I did was a half-tank fill
When I lifted the handle out of the tank
The safety spring broke and I bathed in and drank
A couple of gallons of overpriced fuel
My eye turned red and I started to drool
My skin was stinging, my skirt was soaked
I flushed out my eyes and started to choke
And the E.R. staff said to fill these out please
And we're awfully sorry about how this place reeks
Must be that we've got some chemical leaks
They gave me more papers, then shot me for tetanus
Complained of the vapors and shone beams in my retinas
I heard them all talking about me and stalking the halls
While they sprayed with Lysol
And they offered to trade me some scrubs for my clothes
But I didn't think I would look too chic in those
And I said it's not bothering me but it seems to have you upset
So just get over it
And they lined up and smirked just like they'd never seen
A woman come in soaked with gasoline
Then the doctor went out to get drops for my eye
And I sat on exhibit just tryin' to live it
Down but he didn't come back soon so I
Just nodded and smiled as the white coats passed by
And it turns out the eye drop dispenser had crashed
Had to repair it, that was so rare it was weird, had to bear it
And next thing you know, an hour had passed
Drove to my house, stuck my clothes in plastic
Two showers later I smelled like the last chick
To leave a long shift at Aamco, damn slow
A strong whiff was drastic
Doc said light a match
I'd go up like a Roman candle
Gas pump's unlatched
'Cause there's a scandal 'bout the handle

The History Of My Mouth

After a bout of sucrose depravity,
thank God I found a dentist willing
to plug up each resulting cavity
using a gold or silver filling.

I've worn out the ivory teeth of my youth
by gnawing on chocolate or biting on ice.
People now tell me I'm long in the tooth,
but I always answer, "Oh, that would be nice!"

<FONT >Once said the seamstress with the crooked eye,
"I'd read this advertised as Reparté
In Rhyme. I think this thread has gone awry.
I'd better needle them--see what they say.
Is anybody out there talking back?
Come on, you folks. I'm waiting: Give me <FONT ><u>flack</u>!"
</FONT s></FONT f>



[This message has been edited by Joe Aimone (edited August 08, 2002).]

A seamstress I was
but I stopped because
no matter how hard
I tried to fit lard
asses in leather
pants they kept growing
and cracks kept showing
when they bent or sat
it ended like that


------------------
zz

Dear Seamstress of my feet and laces,
I know you love to work in leather,
But now I see you've seen their faces
Bent down and making like foul weather.
I can't say that I blame you, dear.
A vision of such smiles upright
And in the wind such perfume near
Repels such pricking, wrong or right.
But you sew mine, and I'll sew yours,
The better to undress toujours.

Joe, that's sew sweet
In metrical feet.
But it would have been sweeter
if shorter and neater.

Henry

There once was a poet named Quince
Who was noble and wise as a prince
And desperately tried to convince
Joe that his rhymes would evince
More skill if he took Quince's hints
To give all his verses a rinse
And remove all those metrical splints
That might cause a reader to wince,
But Joe hasn't heard from him since.

Then along came Roger Slater
an awfully fine creator
of rhythms and rhymes much greater
than those of the common waiter