Nellie

Have I told you about my Nellie?
Nellie the one-eyed mare,
Whose gait would jiggle my belly
And bruise up my posterior.

She was a bummer to look at,
Most often she leaned to the port.
With one eye the color of a rainbow,
And a left leg just a little bit short.

She swayed in the back like a croissant,
Her belly it dragged on the ground.
But Nellie was dear, to me as could be,
When I got her, here’s what I found.

Her heart was as big as a bucket,
'twas ever she wanted to play.
So I took her out to Nantucket
To a stallion that lived out that way.

Well she kicked him once on the fanny,
Then bit him real heard on the nose.
'twas then that I knew, there was nothing she wouldn’t dok
She whipped him right down to his toes.

Well, we couldn’t stay in Nantucket,
Nobody wanted us there.
So we wandered along to Pawtucket,
To take in the summer State Fair.

We got along fine on the first day,
Old Nellie seemed calm and serene.
Till along came a horse, whose one eye looked worse,
Right then old Nellie got mean.

She kicked the slats of her stanchion,
She caved in the side of the barn.
'twas only her way, of trying to play,
She really didn’t mean any harm.

Well, they took us to the edge of the city,
They told us to stay out of the there.
Oh, what a time I had with my Nellie,
Nellie the one eyed mare.

*****

Grandpa Don and I do not share the same fears. Even though this poem is just a made up silly poem, in real life Grandpa Don had a horse named Chubb. That's not my idea of a fun pet. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First, some background.

There are three things in this world that terrify me. The first is falling from great heights. I'm fine in airplanes or hiking up a mountain that has wide paths and railings, it's the potential for falling that scares me. Watching someone being irresponsible at a cliffs edge makes my stomach turn.

The second thing that absolutely terrifies me is riding on a motorcycle. Every time I've been on a motorcycle I've been on the back, so I'm at the whim of whoever it is at the handle bars. "Lean into the turns," they always tell me. Well, what if I don't want to lean into the turns? It only gets me closer to the pavement rushing past.

Here's where my fears get relevant: the third thing that terrifies me is riding horses. Nellie would have terrified me! In a day and age where even if you don't have a car you can take public transportation anywhere, who in their right mind would ever decide to travel on a horse? They can weigh five times as you, their feet (which they kick at you if you startle them) are like rocks, and worst of all they have a mind of their own. If a horse decides it doesn't like me on its back, there's no way I'd be able to stay on. A five foot drop to the ground (probably head first) followed by a swift kick and a quick trample? No thanks, I'll take the bus.

The Spring Bath

When spring came along about May the first
And Mother felt winter was over
We kids could see the look on her face
Then one by one we’d run for cover.

For out would come the old wooden tub
And we knew we were due for a wash.
Strong soap and a brush to scrub with
“Twas no use to hide in the brush.

‘Cause first she’d catch the crawling ones
Who weren’t fast enough to hide.
And dump them in together
And line them up side by side.

Next she’d catch us one by one
And hold us down on the floor.
Then snip the seams of our winter underwear
Up the back from the little trap door.

After us mom and dad would shoo us out in the yard
Then join one another in the tub,
And have a good bath together.
As they scraped and scrubbed real hard.
‘Twas real tough for poor old Grandpa
Whose turn would come at the end.
About all he’d have lift to scrub with was a tub full of wet, gray sand.

How he’d growl and grumble at the feeling
As the sand would scratch his hide.
And swear that when he was younger
He’d bathed in a creek outside.

But I noticed that always my mother
Would check him over with care.
Sometimes she would find as he finished
He’d still be wearing a spare.

She knew than that late in the fall
As she sewed us up for the fair.
That grandpa had slipped one over.
Just put on the second pair.

*****

I have no idea if this poem is autobiographical, but one thing is for sure: gross! I shower everyday and I still get pimples. If I didn't bathe all winter long I'm pretty sure I would be nothing more than a mass of red bumps with little white heads. Seriously, just gross!

In this poem I did find something Grandpa Don and I share; we both like to write silly things. Instead of poems, I write TV shows. None of them have ever been picked up, heck I haven't even really tried to market them yet. But I do dream of seeing one of my shows on TV some day. I wonder what Grandpa Don wanted done with his poetry. He probably never even imagined it being available for anyone in the world to read. Well, it's out there now. I wonder if anyone is reading. I guess it doesn't matter, really. I'll keep sharing Grandpa Don's poems and my thoughts until they're done.