Chuckie by Karen Brockway

Chuckie 07-2009

I love my little brother

though it's taken sixty years

It must have been my teasing

'bout those glasses and those ears

He's wreaked revenge upon me

it wasn't undeserved

I've always felt it was his fault

for being such a nerd

(I mean LOOK at that yearbook photo!

Case dismissed!)

He paid me back in punches

my arms were purple kissed

bear hugs that squeezed your life breath out

he'd grin, "Nice to see you, sis."

Feeling good in that new hair-do?

"What HAPPENED to your hair?"

Proud of that mosaic pot?

"You missed a spot right there."

But one day engine oil appeared

in the gas tank of my mower

Blue smoke filled my backyard like fog

and who drove all the way over?

Without complaining, I might add

but I know he felt the glory

regaling clerks at the parts store

with his hilarious sister story

And even though he'll rip this ode

with heartless literary criticism

at my poetry reading he and Lynn

showed up to sit and listen.

My brother still looks youthful

and he's mellowing with age

but hopefully he'll keep his edge--

some things should never change.
~Karen Brockway

The First Hole

Tee it up, check the height,
check the wind,do it right.
I really want a good hit for a start.

Check my grip and my stance,
don't leave anything to chance.
I know this is the easy part.

It's going straight towards the green,
thats the best I've ever seen.
Didn't know that i could golf that good.

Hit the next one fat, caused a popper
not very far, a little hopper.
Didn't go where I thought it should.

I just love these little chips,
son-of-a-gun, I got the yips
didn't go very near the cup.

Need a putt that's soft and easy,
but my stomach's getting queasy,
keep going ball, shucks, it just gave up.

Lined up the putt with practiced eye.
it looked in as it went by.
It was really close, but no cigar.

Well, two more putts and now its in.
Really seems a mortal sin,
to settle for a bogie on this little three par.

~Karl W. Jansen 1/9/09

(and one week later - an explanation)

That golf poem Mother sent to everyone
I wrote just to have a lttle fun.
I expected a sharp retort
I made a travesty of a royal sport,
I led you down the primrose path.
Read it again and do the math.
I might tell a little lie to the unwary
If to make me look good, I felt it necessary.