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Odds and Ends No. 57

Trash cans out on Monday nights;
back in on Tuesdays. The blue can
and the green can with its lid open

sticking up in the air are staring at
me through my window. They have
to wait a bit. At eight after one, I

was finishing a late lunch. I made
a specialty grocery run at Sprouts
the other day for a few items. Not

a major shopping event; just a few
things. I treated myself to a package
of three ciabatta rolls. Not on my

list, I justified it by mumbling to my
list, that I live on sandwiches and
deserved a treat. So, today I weighed

out a two ounce serving of sliced
roast beef, sliced open the roll, put
the beef and one slice of provolone

on one side of the bun and a touch
of mayo on the other. Three green
olives. O why not! A few veggie chips.

Then I poured a cup of coffee from
my thermos. Still piping hot from
breakfast. Three turbinado sugars

instead of two. I took my seat at the
kitchen table and opened up my
lunchtime book. I finished the last

bit of this lovely sandwich and “The
Adventure of the Engineer’s Thumb”
at the same time wherein rose a

dilemma. This was my thinking. I
used more sugar hoping that it would
dissuade me from eating my usual

dessert. Two or three cookies. Lunch
done; adventure done. Moment of
decision. I lifted the rubber-like cover

off of my mug of coffee and looked in.
A little over half left. Probably over
six ounces. Surely enough for two

tiny weeny cookies. (Be right back.
They are hidden on the third shelf
of my old bookcase.) Hmm. Nice

crunch! I was going to tell you that
I’m not a dipper. And that I don’t dip
anything in coffee or tea. Not one for

floating debris. But as I thought about
it, that is not entirely true. I remember
dipping a plain donut once or twice.

Still don’t like floating debris! Do you
dip? (If you answer “Copenhagen” then
you are obviously reading the wrong

poem. But in the spirit of diversity,
read on.) Let me add. I haven’t smoked
or chewed since on a field exercise in

Germany around 1976. So, why am I
salivating? Cookies will have to do. It
was bad enough having to read about

Sherlock and his before breakfast pipe
habits. (Drat! I miss pipes and cigars,
too!) Do they still make Red Man?

I better go get those trash cans. And,
another cup of thermos coffee. Then
get back to writing my Vietnam memoir.

Categories: Poetry

Tagged as:


Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)

I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)

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