Wrote this a few years ago for a City Giving Day event (City Giving Day is an annual appeal to people working in the City of London or the London financial sector in general, to encourage them to sign up to donate part of their paychecks to whatever charity their particular employer supports). It went over rather well.
An Appeal
A coin from your pocket, a moment or so,
A click on a button or two -
It’s only a trivial action, I know;
But it’s really the least you can do.
We’re not asking much and it’s simple enough:
It’s a doddle to answer this call.
We’ll even do all of the difficult stuff -
You’ll hardly be bothered at all.
Support for the children, aid for the poor -
We’ll do this to show that you care.
We’ll help raise awareness, search for a cure -
You won’t need to move from your chair.
To fix what is broken, raise up the low,
To save the ones helpless and lost -
We get it all done on a shoestring, and so
You won’t even notice the cost.
A shoulder to cry on, a mind to inspire -
It’s part of the service we bring.
A tiny donation is all we require -
Would you please just consider the thing?
A burden is lightened, an injury salved,
A little is all that it takes -
The least you can do is still more than they have
And oh, what a difference it makes.
Sorry Ma’am,
We’re closing up,
The waitress left
An hour ago
And Bill’s shut down the grill.
The oven’s cold,
And we sold
The last of the pie
To a pretty girl with auburn hair.
You can sit, though,
If you like,
But it’s not any warmer here
Than it is out there.
At least there isn’t
Any wind
Inside.
There’s some coffee left.
It’s cold, and
Probably bitter, and
Certainly stale, but
It’s yours if you want it.
No charge.
I’ll fetch you a cup.
Mind the chip in the mug.
You alright, Ma’am?
You look like you’ve come a long way.
You look like you could use
Something warm and
A place to rest, but
I have to lock up now.
I’m sorry, Ma’am,
I’m closed.
Do not go gentle into that box store
Rage, right?, against the dying of the core
Built-up towns have forgot what downtown’s for
(Less safe. And no free parking anymore.)
I should’ve kicked the tires
Checked its teeth
Stopped to consider
But it was too good to miss
I didn’t want to see
How you’d scraped the truth here
Painted bright promises there
Glued a flimsy premise together with cheap hope
And wiggled it all with hidden strings
And so I bought it
Stood it in the corner of the room
And tell all my guests
How wonderful it is
And not to mind the bits falling off
And the stain it’s left on the carpet
(There are several Dopers who know where my moniker originated
and whose picture is my avatar. These are the lyrics to a [children’s]
song I wrote about my first dog – acquired at the tender age of 39.)
Burpo, The Wonder Mutt
PJ’s her name, eating’s her game.
Breakfast, lunch and dinner it is always the same:
Forty-two seconds to bolt down her food.
Sixty seconds later you will hear something rude.
Chugs enough water to put out a fire!
Gotta go spread it around the backyard.
Though I just fed her, she says I’m a liar;
She’s playing the “starving” card.
Wolfing her treats; her favorite eats.
Nosing through the pockets of whomever she meets.
Backs a few paces away from her bowl
To look me in the face; eructation her goal.
Daily, this situation recurs.
Usu’ly, she’s a quiet one, but,
Pow, this transformation occurs:
It’s Burpo, The Wonder Mutt!
Can’t fly at all. Won’t fetch a ball.
Her only speed for everything appears to be “stall.”
Movies won’t be made of one as lazy as she.
You won’t see her barking on your cable TV.
Looks just like your ev’ryday cur.
Won’t wear the tights, the cape or the cowl.
The only time she’ll bother to stir:
When her belly begins to growl.
Her super sniffer never misses a meal.
Her steely canines don’t know how to nibble.
She might listen if you tell her to “Heel!”
But, Oh, Heaven help you if you try to take the kibble
From Burpo, The Wonder Mutt!
I love that dog, though she eats like a hog.
She’s no super hero, just a bump on a log.
Her mighty tummy rumblings will knock you down flat.
What kind of stupid super power is that?
Is there anything that could silence this trend?
Changing her diet does not make the cut.
Hearing that racket from your own furry friend
Might give you pause, but I’ll tell you what:
There are many other noises that would tend to offend
More than sounds from a collie’s gut.
Yes, with luck I won’t be hearing from the opposite end
Of Burpo, The Wonder Mutt!
i ate all of the coffee cake
that you left by the sink
you were in bed, not yet awake
and i was wet with drink
perhaps i made a big mistake
that’s what you seem to think
it seemed so lonely sitting there
forgive me my esurience
i thought that you might want to share
two slices of luxuriance
will make it up to you - in prayer
in pastry, or in prurience
Her house wasn’t home, it turns out. Picket fences and promises weren’t maintained.
Harsh feelings have been piling up inside her like drifts of careless snow. No more lacing children’s boots, the sun bright path calls and volition beckons.
With a searing heart of discontent and autumn at the gate, she wistfully turns from winter.
[eggplant emoji]
[wink]
[smiley face]
[poo]