Do Not Do This At A Restaurant On Mother’s Day

Do not do this in a restaurant in Tampa, on Mother’s Day.

Having dinner, and being served by an absolutely gorgeous woman, and finally something to drink is there
and the entire meal is ready to be consumed.
The waitress comes up to the table, and says, “Would you like a roll with that?”

I, quite innocently, reply, “Well, you can see my plate is full at the moment, but if you’re
not busy afterwards, I wouldn’t refuse a good b—w j–.”

Hey! you asked.

OW! ow!

Oh momma!

Public service can be so easily upset and disturbed.

©Dean J. Baker

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All rights reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. All material is covered by international intellectual property laws. All characters are the sole property of ©Dean J. Baker and have been so since 2005-2006. They may not be used in any form. Failure to comply with this will be taken as copyright infringement and plagiarism and acted upon with all and full legal means. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker with appropriate and specific direction to the original content, and the author is informed.

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Made Manifest

I believe I have discovered God. My cat, Precious.
She always keeps her eye on the sparrow. Never misses, always attentive.
Forever watchful.

When she is interrupted in her meditations by a form of life alien to her
routine, she becomes ever more so aware, and retreats to a sense of hyper
alertness.
Spirit envelopes her.

As the sacrifices are presented, headless and feathers askew, she manifests
the dignity of all worldly entities costumed in the contemporary.
The rough beast, the Ozymandian figure in command.

Were I to be found breathless, she would contemplate the stillness of her
creation, bitterly complain for a brief moment, and uncover the following
object of those she deems worthy of revelation.

She would not linger nor mourn in a wasteful sense of life halted, but celebrate
by an ever vigilant succession of delightful enjoyment.
Without prejudice, without retreat.

She might even nibble my toes, take in the flesh and the spirit upon herself.
Such is the nature of her sacrifice.

Afterwards, building her monuments in the shifting sands of eternity,
disguise them, deny their magnificence to the point of non-recognition.

Back at the window, she would not miss a single sparrow. Such is the nature
of her divinity.

Eliciting the best in a contemporary world, disdaining leadership: being
the one certain and absolute figure in what is always disappearing, while
sustaining the worship, the observance of what passes.

©Dean J. Baker

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©All rights reserved. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material that appears here or has appeared here without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. All material is covered by international intellectual property laws. All characters are the sole property of ©Dean J. Baker and have been so since 2005-2006. They may not be used in any form. Failure to comply with this will be taken as copyright infringement and plagiarism and acted upon with all and full legal means. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dean J. Baker with appropriate and specific direction to the original content, and the author is informed.

Between The Pages...for a moment

Reblogged from Dean J. Baker - Poetry, and prose poems:

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I'm grateful for all the 'Likes' and even more so for comments, and for the wonderful re-blogging.

I'm listing some of my social media links which I invite you to join, add me, etc.

I will be removing this post prior to the poem later today.

And of course there are always my limited, first edition books...

JOIN ME on my…

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