by Rick Young | Jan 6, 2017 | Poem
Zeb collected Kronen. He had several passed down from his great grandparents,
whom he’d called ‘Hessa" and ‘Squadroon,’ for no apparent reason. He’d been told
that they were from ‘the old country,’ somewhere in Austria, but got confused and
used to tell classmates they’d once owned a kangaroo farm. Zeb would embellish.
His parents, whom he called ‘Fizza’ and ‘Mazier,’ (he liked Z words) told him Kroner
were hard to find in Utah and suggested a new hobby, or perhaps religion. Of course,
Zeb combined the two, and began to dig in the woods, perhaps looking to unearth
Kronen or to find Australia. What he did find were bones, animal bones which he
would assemble into sculptures, usually a pattern of interlaced Z’s. But one day
‘Fizza’ said, "That looks like a human femur you’ve got there, Zeb." And the police
were contacted. Following the investigation, which did, indeed, prove ‘Fizza’ correct,
Zeb became interested in forensics, stopped digging in the ground, and dug instead
into textbooks related to the field. And Zeb is now the highest ranking crime scene
investigator in Utah. Mormons do get murdered, it seems, but not nearly at the rate
of the general population. Around the office, Zeb is known as ‘Agent Z.’
by Rick Young | Jan 5, 2017 | Poem
When Wade was in eighth grade, having shown
some prowess with the instrument in his school’s
band room, he persuaded his father to buy him a trumpet.
They were not a well off family, so the instrument was used,
but Wade was very appreciative. His musical hero was
legendary jazz great Dizzy Gillespie, he of the puffed cheeks
and bent trumpet. After several months of practice, Wade decided,
to better emulate his idol, to take the horn into the basement
and bend it similarly in his father’s vise. He succeeded only
in snapping the bell off his trumpet, leaving him, basically,
with the world’s first valved kazoo. His father was furious
and adamantly refused to replace the horn. With some minor
modifications, Wade was able to get sound from his ruined instrument,
and became proficient enough to entertain at parties, school revues
and even on open mic night at a local club. A couple years later,
using some inheritance money from his late grandfather,
he funded the manufacture of an inexpensive tin version
which he patented as the "Jazzoo." It sold surprisingly well
as a novelty instrument and provided enough money to pay
for four years in a local college, studying musicology, and
to earn the begrudging respect of his father, who insisted thereafter
on calling his son "Dizzy," a nickname that stuck for life
and which Wade quite enjoyed.
by Rick Young | Jan 4, 2017 | Poem
Jenna’s favorite present from Santa was the Easy Bake Oven.
She always watched her mommy in the kitchen and was eager
to imitate the cooking process, in her cute little apron.
In fact, the very next day, she made cupcakes for her parents,
baked them for six hours under the Easy Bake’s sixty watt lightbulb,
and added a green glaze frosting to boot. They looked horrible.
And tasted even worse, it turned out, but mommy and daddy ate
the entire treat, out of deep love and respect for little Jenna.
Later that night, her parents got very sick and had to be taken
by ambulance to the local hospital. It seems that Jenna could
not find a suitable colored liquid in the fridge for her frosting,
so had gone out to the garage to search amongst the canned
goods there. Anti freeze was the perfect color, and gooey, too.
Jenna did not know how to read.
And, even if she did, who’d want frozen cupcakes?
by Rick Young | Jan 3, 2017 | Poem
When Jason’s dad taught him how to hit,
the boy insisted on reversing his batting grip,
top hand where the bottom should be.
The boy complained that the other way,
the right way, as his dad angrily repeated,
wasn’t comfortable, and constantly missed
the ball when not batting cross-handed,
often on purpose, his dad thought.
"You’ll break your wrist swinging that way,"
his dad would shout, shaking his head.
In Jason’s third little league game, he hit
a screaming liner to the left field corner,
but broke his wrist in the process.
"Always listen to your dad," his father,
a lifetime .200 hitter, said at the hospital.
It was a painful, career ending injury.
But Jason really got into swimming
at the rehab and eventually got
a scholarship to UCLA.
by Rick Young | Jan 2, 2017 | Poem
I’m a font of iambiquity.
My rhymes are quite persnickety.
I often use pentameters
to shatter some parameters.
If you hear that I’ve been rhymin’,
find a tree and just start climbin’.
