Breakfast: Family Camping, 1960

I remember the friezes,
Of tree limbs on canvas,
When soft morning breezes,
Said: "We're not in Kansas!"

Rippling the amber wall,
Shaking out last year's dust,
Filling the dim, canvas hall,
With the smell of vacation stardust.

Barely there, a deliciousness arose,
A dream to awaken my sleepy senses,
Tickling, fondling, caressing my nose:
Exotic, erotic, the way that incense is.

Was that coffee, fresh and mellow?
Was that sausage, spicy and crisp?
The aroma, toasty brown and yellow
Pancakes, stacked -- the wil-o'-my-wisp?

Seeds of chaos, we burst from our tent,
Filling the air with the forest floor.
Unconcerned how the others went,  
Baby birds clamored for more, more, more!

As each of us jockeyed for eating room,
A feeding frenzy raged unabated.
In fifteen minutes twas all consumed;
One dropped a sausage. Picked it up. Ate it.

These memories are a laugh, a great ride,
But for sandwiches, burgers, beans and franks,
Mom and Dad worked so hard to provide,
None of us ever thought to say: "Thanks."

Mick McKellar
December 2023

A Holiday Treat

Holiday nights spent with all you adore,
The passionate nearness of sweet ardor.
The moon and stars shine down from above,
Your heart beats faster because of your love.
Hot chocolate kisses in front of the fire,
Sweet spicy fragrances fan your desire,
Soft, slow music stirs your hungry soul;
Nervous, your hand plunges into the bowl.
A handful of caramel corn in your grip,
Will soon be stuck on your mustache and lip.
Your fingers are searching for just the right chip,
To scoop up a teaspoonful of the dip,
Your wife will remark, standing on her feet,
"At one time, I was your holiday treat!”

Mick McKellar
December 2023

Who Will Tell Grandpa He's Too Old to Drive

The rest of us want to get home alive,
But slow-trolley Grandpa is behind the wheel.
Though one of the best men ever to drive,
This craft needs someone awake at the keel!

Traffic is heavy, aggressive, and quick,
And old men are slow to react to change.
His confident driving, so slow and slick,
Gets quickly confused on an interchange.

It is critical that he stays awake,
To help his passengers safely arrive.
There is no nap he can afford to take!
Who will tell Grandpa he's too old to drive?

Mick McKellar
December 2023

Hang Up, Grandpa

Once again, I could not stop talking;
Once again, I would not shut the heck up.
Although others tried to end that long call,
I was on a roll, not stopping at all.
This desperate grandpa would not shut up,
 But stretched the Christmas call without balking.

And once again, I repeated myself.
My mouth kept moving, mind striving to find
Topics and aches and pains to keep chatting,
Until the others gently combating,
Insisting though both gentle and kind,
Twas time this old Elf got back on his shelf.

Once again, I simply couldn't let go.
I can talk until the batteries die,
Beyond the limits that most can endure,
Dragged once again on the nickel tour:
Thread-bare stories and memories awry.
And gently, they tell me it’s time to go.

Mick McKellar
December 2023

Christmas Shopping, 1956

Smudges in the streetside snow,
Root beer ice everywhere we go.
Flaccid air that cuts to the core,
Store music is a generic bore.

Buckle boots with buckles broke,
To keep out slush are a jingle joke.
A driver in a Christmas rush
Splashes us with Yuletide slush.

Christmas shopping checkout squeeze:
A world of wet boots, butts, and knees.
Suddenly, we’re with my dad,
To carry all the gifts we had --

Out to our waiting chariot,
Adrift in slush-filled parking lot.
We’re in the back seat, looking down,
We can’t get up or look around.

My mom arrives and dad gets out,
We hear a moan, a cry, a shout.
They enter our wet biodome,
Silence reigns the whole way home.

We haunt our cold, damp, metal jar,
Til’ mom and dad unpack the car.
We march into the house, a mess
Of flapping boots and slushiness.

Supper comes (and quickly went),
A face wash and some Pep-so-Dent.
Soon we all are sent to bed...
Nothing asked. Nothing said.

Mick McKellar
December 2023

Not The Life I Hoped For

I don't need you to fix me.
Though sometimes I cry,
Alone in the night,
From the fear I might die;
And ashamed of that fright.
You’ll never hear that sad plea.

I need love and compassion.
If you see me grimace in pain,
Your patience is what I desire.
I hate being sick again.
“Stay home.” Is what they require,
And medical gear’s out of fashion.

Mick McKellar
December 2023

Golden Days

Advice I give is good more than a year.
I make soup from a raindrop and a smile;
My stories bring both laughter and a tear,
And both of them repeat after a while.

My beard and mustache used to be dark red,
But now they’re mostly white and silver-gray.
My hair no longer covers my whole head;
What’s left seems like it wants to fade away.

I used spend my days working around,
And now I spend them sitting on my grass!
I spoke and sang with such a mellow sound,
And now I sneeze and cough and pass some gas…

Days -- they flitter past in merely minutes,
Far fewer up ahead than left behind.
Golden Days are here with all their limits:
‘Long as I get to live them, I don’t mind!

Mick McKellar
December 2023

Snow

 

by Mick McKellar / December 2023