What a treat to see Boris up and about, all dewy-eyed over the latest addition to the Johnson legacy! Makes you love the lovable rogue even more, don’t it?

Daddy Issues.

‘Born to Bo and Carrie, a thick-thatched boy child,’
Styled much in the manner of his Poppa, carefree and wild,
Boris’s sixth, joining three daughters and two brothers
Selectively spread over three decades and three mothers.

After his brush with mortality can Bo be a changed man?
Rigidly stick to Carrie’s ‘Keep Johnson In-His-Pants Family Plan?
Carrie, just trust Bo to not carry on, Carrie, try to keep calm,
Bo’s put two partners behind him, so… third mom’s the charm?

 

©Obbverse.

Boris Johnson’s Diary: A lady’s man laid low.

Boris’s Bed-time Story.

Boris is in our prayers and in our thoughts,
I do  so hope Boris recovers from his nasty scare,
He’s feverishly chatting away, according to reports,
Swearing he’ll somehow survive National Health care.

Boris doesn’t like being in bed when he’s out of sorts,
Whether he’s feeling up or better is not the public’s affair,
Boy, Bojo has been a bit of a wag when it comes to bed sports
But now is the time to change his wayward ways- and underwear.

 

©Obbverse

From heights Olympian to the hum drum. I read a frazzled woman’s blog, I heard her frustration and imagined her next step. (Too much time on my scrubbed clean covid and germ-free hands, I imagine.)

Left In The Dust.

At school I’d daydream through the long boring classes,
Heroic tales of Hera and Hercules, so the lesson passes.

Exchanging today’s tedium’s for yesterday’s mythic stories,
Tall tales of ancient battles, of Achilles and Paris’s vain glories.

These days I’ve a Hades of a life, dragging the kids out of bed,
Getting ’em washed and fresh-faced and dressed and fed.

No honeyed milk nor sweet ambrosia bless this houses breakfast table,
Three growing boys, fling in food fights and I’m left an Augean stable.

Packed lunches, back packs and pack ’em in the Minivan;
Every morning this Moms labors become more Herculean.

Whatever happened to those long lost schoolgirl’s dreams?
Romantic fantasies of Helen of Troy, of a thousand triremes?

…Waiting at the red light, back to the past I absently wander
Till horns and a green light remind me my Odyssey’s a Honda.

The journey to school has all the usual boystrous push and shove,
A display of more pokes pinches and punches than brotherly love.

Spilling out the sliding door, off with nary a backward glance,
I’m rueing too many wasted days- and three nights of romance.

The Greek God I thought loved me eternally now no longer cares,
I naively married a Narcissus interested in his silly human affairs.

This ever-smiling mother, his secondary lover is going to disappear,
There is a Troy, a Carthage, Athens, Paris, Texas- anywhere but here.

 

Obbverse

The old familiar saying is ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’ Not in this dysfunctional family it doesn’t.

’66, The Mother Road.

Lucky Wandering Willie got a job in Vegas,
Willie wished to augment his Casino wages,
But he broke the rules when he marked the deck,
He broke and ran before Bruno broke his neck.

Lucky ran like a cut cat, he ran for his life,
He ran out the car park, he ran out on his wife,
Down dark alleyways he poundingly pelted,
He ran till his steaming Sketchers melted.

He skipped into the Desert Lodge only to find
He’d left his expensive grab-bag of troubles behind,
So he laid low in a two-bit stinking sauna of a hotel;
Better to sweat here than suffer Bruno’s bloody hell.

Rambling Lucky Willie gambled on his good luck,
It left him, flat busted in Las Vegas, silly schmuck,
It’s a tiny town to hide in when you owe a million,
Miniscule when the family next door is Sicilian.

Poor unfortunate Willie was out of tricks,
Time to bail out, to sh hit the bricks,
When Bosco pounded heavily on his door
Willie bounded lightly off the second floor.

Willie lit out of Vegas that very night,
Walked the back-roads till morning light,
Then it was time to lay down his weary head,
If Bosco caught him up he’d be spittin’ up lead.

A faint trail snaking off into the sand
Offered only the shade of a Yucca stand,
There he stumbled on a long deserted Dodge,
A humble home, even though no Desert Lodge.

And so Lucky Willie slept the day away,
Got out of Dodge at the end of the day,
He limped along ‘neath a ghostly moon
Praying he’d find some hick town soon.

Bruno drove all day in air-conditioned splendor
His eyes peeled for someone crisp and tender,
Squinting in the sun for someone dehydrated,
His aim; to literally leave Willie well ventilated.

Bruno would’ve made the paisan Swiss cheese,
But it seems Willie was gone, like a cool breeze,
The Casino kindly offered his wife their support,
Even helped her file a missing person’s report.

No, the diligent detective’s found no trace of Willie,
Our hot-foot fugitive’s trail turned downright chilly,
Willie, last seen by a road crew outside of Primm,
Since that last sight, no-ones seen a sign of him…

——————————————————————-

Though the Willie trail went cold a few months back
Bosco still thinks of Willie, driving in his Cadillac,
Poor Lucky Willie sure was one unlucky mother-
Finding Nevada Road Fill’s run by Bosco’s brother.

Bruno knows Willies gone but he’s not forgot,
At a certain point, Bosco’s found a soft spot,
That dip on Route 66, down the road apiece-
Lost in time and lime Lucky rests in peace.

Ps; This was ‘inspired’ by driving down a long boring stretch of road alleviated by the random shuffle selecting Jason and the Scorchers version of ‘Lost Highway.’  

©Obbverse

Some of us hope those old ‘someday my prince will come, a marriage made in heaven, happily ever after’ stories might just come true. This rarely happens to the average Joe though. Still, sometimes the fairy tale can happen. So I believe.

Daddy Of Them All.

She claimed she was oh-so-pure,
Maintained it was none but he she’d love,
Gave her cross-my-heart swear-to-god word,
Then her bitter tears cascaded to the ground
And she wailed for all she was worth.

So sweet, innocent, oh-so-demure,
Inculpable of what he was thinking of,
Still, that ol’ devil doubt uneasily stirred,
He looked up, but no answer there he found;
Can angels fall, down here on earth?

Sure, now  he might not be quite so sure,
But hadn’t his love sworn to heaven above?
Then when the magical miraculous event occurred
Rather than let the bad word get spread around
Father Joe and mother Mary announce: a virgin birth.

 

(I fear an apology is necessary,
So, sorry.
If I’ve offended I meant no harm,
So, so sorry.
Sweet Jesus, Joseph and Mary,
Christ knows I’m sorry.
I pray the third one’s the charm?)

 

©Obbverse.

It is better to have loved and lost, some do say. I say, ‘yeah, right.’

Anniversary Blues.

Sometimes it’s the simple little things;
The way a new sprung sparrow witlessly sings,
Now, what a hollow feeling that birdsong brings
And dark thoughts of a sunny day and wedding rings.

…On the beach, on the sand,
A gleam of gold on her left hand,
A joyous time for our happy band,
And did we not say ‘ain’t love grand?’

Of one thing we two were sure,
Our love was unadulterated and pure,
For evermore she’d be my one amour,
Our love was truly bound to endure.

Winter came, left me chilled to the core,
The cold I hold in my heart has yet to thaw,
The view we’d shared, of that golden shore
Offers me not warmth nor comfort anymore.

It might be the sight of a gull wheeling on high,
A touch of white, up in a clear bright blue empty sky,
Down here I’m alone to hear its stupid senseless cry
Cruelly tail off in the wind, to drift, to fade, to die.

 

©Obbverse

Isn’t it sad to find one of your ‘heroines’ has feet of clay, and a lazy eye. Oh, Wonder Woman, where are you now?

Not Of This World.

I foolishly half-believed Sarah Huckabee Sanders
Tried to rein in the raving of the High Commanders
Litany of half-truths, obfuscations lies and slanders.

Did I not see a flicker of humanity, a mere trace
As she leant on her lectern, wishing to be in another place
Far far away from this time, this space?

But it seems I gave sweet talkin’ Sarah too much credit,
When you see the ‘Acosta Accosting Intern’ Directors edit-
She didn’t just say Fake News, she liberally spread it.

Sad… now she can’t find the fortitude to recuse
Herself from trolling the depths of the Fake News
And wallowing in those Far-Right-Out-There views.

Now she’s gone from being a Fake News nay-sayer
To gleefully being the Dark Arts leading purveyor-
All she needs is an indecent video to become a player.

She could and should have taken a moments pause
And pondered the source and the effects and cause
Of relying on the fantasy films from Infowars.

Now Sarah Huckabee happily trots out her own lies,
She seen what she wants to see with her own eyes;
Press Secretary, Propagandist and Goebbels in disguise.

That Sarah is a stout and loyal trooper can’t be denied,
But look into those eyes now, and see, she’s dead inside;
Hope Huckabee Sanders is happy on the Dark Side,