Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

He had lived much longer than his allotted time, let us not forget.
Everything hurt .... his head, his neck, his regrets.
He had elderly diseases no-one had even thought of naming yet.

He was sitting in his room when an aroma hit his nose.
The scent of chocolate chips in fresh-baked cookie dough.
"Did I die and go to heaven?," he thought.
He truly didn't know.

"I wonder how I can find out if I'm dead or I'm alive?"
He asked this question aloud to himself,
and then he sighed.

He maneuvered his wheelchair to the edge of the table
as well as he was able. The cookies beckoned.
Might as well try one, he reckoned.

He reached, he dared....
but his wife appeared from out of nowhere,
slapped his hand with a spatula... OUCH!

"What are you doing?" she asked.
He said, "I want one! They're beautiful!"
"Don't touch!" she snapped.
They're for the funeral!"

.
.

one small bite for man
one huge fantasy for woman
death, shmeath - that plate of cookies is heavenly

would i die for a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie..?

try me.

thanks, judh & cecil ...

.... old joke converted into stand-up comedy poetry.

there are those cookies again...

dang. I can almost taste them.

-mb

mb,
In between the chocolate chips, apparently I can only write one poem a month. ... when I used to write several a day several years ago. Melted chocolate morsels to you, monkeyboy. Thanks very much.

mmm... gracias!

gracias to YOU, veronica!

(just now saw your reply when i came back to edit a typo... "fresh-backed"? hahaha... instead of fresh-baked.. geesh)

double ouch...
and triple yum! those look awesome!!

and yeah, i feel ya on the writing one poem a month thing...maybe if i quit saying i'm stuck, i'll get unstuck, so i won't say it out loud...hahaha