He had always dreamed of
A demure mother in a calico pinafore
Whipping up a batch of cookies
For his Boy Scout troop.
He took it all in stride, though, when he got one totally different, unique,
A near-octogenarian madcap in rhinestones.

With the glamour of a 40’s chanteuse,
The legs of a Grable,
The wasp-waist of a Hayworth
And the seductibility that blended
Dietrich with Gardner,
She was all his.

Not an ounce over 103,
Not a chip on her dainty tens,
Each eyelash laced with true,
Spit-made, War Bride mascara.
Daily she donned her banana Miranda toque
And seven inch heels that threw her into the
Stratosphere.

No excuses, no,
Her Son made no excuses.

“You just can’t fault that spunk.
Love it for what it is.”`

He relished each time she called out, full-throated,
Mermanesque.
Dashing from her bubble-bathed toilette to
Chiffon-draped boudoir.
Flouncing past, she’d declare,

“Shut your eyes, you Innocents,
Naked Lady coming through.”

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
January, 2020

Photo by William Petty

“Bill and Reva
Sure put on a nice spread,
Simple but classic.
Nothing can beat
Fresh seeds
Scattered with love by the blue birds.

Doezi, didn’t answer, Dearie.
She was too busy gathering tasty morsels.

“You know, Dearie, the Mrs is an expert in this.”

“But Fawnda, how do you know these things?”

“I’ve got ears.”

“No, you have a nose. Nosiest herbivore in the family.”

“Girls stop bickering,” said Dearie.

“They’ll hear our quarrels and cut off the tasties.”

“They wouldn’t do that. They’re too kind.”

‘’All humans have limits.”

“Not this prize pair.”

“They should have named this farm Safe Haven.
Even the fawns know to hide here, At Chestnut Oak, in hunting season.

Finally chiming in the Grand Doe,
Hortense, holding court, said,

“Aren’t we the lucky ones.
Eat to your heart’s content, Gals.

Just be glad we have
The Petty’s.”
Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia February, 2020

Only Donald could
Kiss away a cloudy day
Missing you, my Love.

RACONTEUR

Only he could strum,
Noodle a folksy tune on the guitar
And make it mellow
As a Martin.
But wait, it was a Martin.

Only he as an ultimate raconteur,
Could spin a sidewinder, off-color
Yarn into a sage tidbit of local truth.
Oh, but the mule did fart
He attests.

Only he holding court
Wears perfect pleated cowboy garb.
Always near a smile
Ready to snatch up
An ascot, a cravat, pocket square, or just a bandana.
His impish self, smiling through his fine sophisticated ways.

The Love of his life,
His home, his heart, his hearth
protecting him
so courageously fragile a creature.

Only His domain, the porch of a country bakery,
Peopled with delight,
His Southern gentle smile testify to her beauty
A regal knight by everyone ‘s measure
Raconteur merely the start of describing
Only Donald.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
January, 2020