It's Saturday * Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I am of a strange mindset,
a haze of unhatched thought, ,
dragging the bedcovers again
they fall at last, into the usual heap
while I splash tepid water, briefly
watching those familiar age spots
lipofuchsin in relentless mockery,
a bit of post-alcoholic tremor,
the duo of acrylic teeth bathing
in the glass Grandma brought
from overseas, a Dresden gift,
you'll get homesick she said,
as she placed a complete set
of Dresden China, an oxymoron
I said casually, hating it when she,
rare visitor, takes over the place,
ignoring the little woman, who was
after all my choice, and not the grandest,
kids like her though and gain one kilo
easily, chocolate named Sarotti,
cooking with huge scoops of cream,
funny how the General seems just
to wander, inspecting gardens,
nearby forests and the woodshed,
roles reversed, methinks, perhaps
in time he will resume command,
with booming voice, further enhanced
due to a real loss of hearing normal sound,
no hearing aid, of course, way too newfangled,
and reading lips with budding cataracts
life has been kind to both, though God forbid,
bad omens kill the bold, it is well known,
oh, yes, just four more sleeps until,
cab-over camper is in place, supreme in tank,
two months will be a real test for all,
as the old culture settles in like morning mist
that stays all day and through each night.

No mother, Fritz will stay outside, his house
withstands the wildest storms, three inches
of the Weyerhauser foam with silver foil,
this is the country, Dad, we need protection
form all predators, and skunks, opossums
and the mountain lions, older ones come down
from snowy hills to get some food, perhaps a hen
or wiener pigs unguarded in the barn.

No going out to pee, mon General, a real risk
we'd have to soak your sorry ass for two whole days
in plain tomato juice, it works, but takes its time,
last year, Thanksgiving night we had one down below,
beneath the laundry floor, the fumes welled up
and universal nausea took hold, long past
the sound of 12 gauge Remington, a double blast
the place plain reeked for endless weeks.

The gadget says 2 minutes, then recharge,
seems logical and whitens aging teeth,
should trim the whiskers, maybe not, more gray
than pigment, curling too, wife hates it so,
don't like her wrinkles much nor rolls of lard
that seem to have erupted from a growing arse,
expanding, as she says, through estrogen and change,
well I'll be damned my friend, it's Saturday.
Back, dragging covers back to bed, a tangled mess
another hour would be wonderful, it seems.