Like It Is

I asked my right leg if it would help me get up Trinidad Head.

“You’ve got to be joking,” it answered in muscle-talk.

My thirsty throat asked for a tiny can of cold pineapple juice.

“Oh really?” said my belly. “Is there a restroom in your car?”

My friend invited me to her birthday party.

“We’ll have cake and ice cream, and all kinds of goodies.”

“I couldn’t eat a morsel of it,” I translated. “Happy Birthday anyway.”

I know I know that guy from somewhere.

Damn if I can remember his name.

Sadly enough, he remembers mine.

And why did I call Laraine “Michelle”?

Live to 100? What kind of bad joke is that?

Elaine Weinreb, Westhaven