fanniesson -

fanniesson - Poems

thank them for picking up my trash,
wish them a good day,
they look at me as if I’m nuts half the time
standing there outside in a bathrobe,

I knew it was over between Cheryl,
my black girlfriend and me
when I found myself one Sunday afternoon
in some store front

On Fridays the Rabbi came
cut the chicken’s necks while
saying a prayer, then hung them
on hooks as exsanguination

You wake up and she’s there,
it could be a lot worst I admit.

Like a kid standing in line for ice cream
‘she wants to be first’,

It takes two years to kill yourself,
to get to the point you don’t care anymore,
and even if you wanted to.
You couldn’t bring yourself back.

One doesn’t become more beautiful with age.
The wife and I both pushing sixty now,
are sure of this one!

I look in a mirror and see the old man,
I was told was there from fourteen years old.

Death is sitting
on the edge of my bed,
doing necessary paperwork.
Questioning me on my age

And when it was over,
when dirt was packed on casket,
headstone moved back in place.
The Mexican labors

I’d like to go to Arizona maybe Nevada
sit on the desert floor look at the mountains
and all that sky pray, no doubt cry,
tell God I’m sorry beg his forgiveness

She was sent home to die plain & simple.
Paperwork needed and her insurance
didn’t warrant keeping her comfortable
in a hospital bed medicated

He walked the dog everyday
the way he said he would,

lying in bed 24 hour weather channel
telling me don’t worry
it’s gonna be bright & sunny tomorrow,
pint of ben & Jerry's, box of gourmet

I understand when I'm dead I'm dead,
just a soulless piece of meat,
'if there's even such a thing as a soul, lying
in some crematorium somewhere waiting my turn

What a place to end it all.
What a place for your last fall
What a place to meet your maker.
Hunting grounds for the undertaker.

like the elephant when it senses its death is near,
and breaks from its herd to head off to their
hidden burial ground,
though now that I think about it.

If you should find me dead
I'm not with the lord, so.
Don't comfort yourself
in thinking so, or that.

They were a thing for a while,
the ice cream man and aunt Fanny.
My aunt who came for supper one Sunday,
when I was a kid and stood twenty-seven years

My old man was never around,
for one reason or another,
and neither was my mother
when you get right down to it,

fanniesson - Biography

a thank you to those that read my poems Michael (Fanniesson))

The Best Poem Of fanniesson -

I Say Good Morning To My Garbage Men,

thank them for picking up my trash,
wish them a good day,
they look at me as if I’m nuts half the time
standing there outside in a bathrobe,
specially the younger ones.

I say good morning to my garbage men,
but I couldn’t point them out in a lineup
if my life depended on it,
even if I see these guys twice a week
rain or shine year in and year out.

I say good morning to my garbage men
though I look right through them
as if they’re nobodies,

the wife’s fond of saying.

Everything means something,
and nothing means nothing,
and I wonder,

if this is what she’s talking about?

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