Fluff (aka clouds)

FLUFF

by Ryn Gargulinski

fluff
can be
cushy sweet
plushy cute like
something
you
pack
in your
pillow that –

soft stuff
that cradles
your head but –

fluff
can be

nasty
harsh
abrasive
gruff as the

term used to
criticize your writing or –

the curt cold so
loathsome response when
you open up and
disclose your
dreams.

Andrew's cat Rosie - goes with his FLUFF poem

FLUFF

by Andrew Ulanowski

My cat Rosie
is so skinny
and frail
that I am
quite sure
she is made from
fluff
and
popsicle sticks.

Lazlo the lizard dance

See more photos, art and Ryn writing at ryngargulinski.com and tucsoncitizen.com/rynski

BETRAYAL POEMS: BETRAYAL and LET DOWN

BETRAYAL
by Ryn Gargulinski

they may have thought
we would take them on a
bicycle ride a trek to the
circus a zip to the zoo but instead

we put them in an ice cube tray – each
bald baby mouse in its own
little cube – each parent, dismayed where

their babies went – atop lean cuisine
pizza beside smashed frozen peas – the
next morning we pulled

out the ice cube tray – found several cubes
empty as a number had crawled – to a lumpy
pinkie clump in one cube – a huddle that had hoped to

stay warm – one frozen mid-crawl on
the lip – his paw grasping at the
the cold freezer
sky.

Poem in honor of pinkies we wrenched away from pet mice to feed lizard Lazlo
___

LET DOWN
by Andrew Ulanowski

Betrayal is having
the person
you have fallen
in love with
ask you to review
their ad on Match.com

Shoe shots and feet

TWO SHOE POEMS: MINOR and SHOES

MINOR
by Ryn Gargulinski

we remember
things that hurt like
our first broken heart long
lost pets who up
and died the
friend who gave a
gift and then
took it right back – she would

rather gift the gift now to
Shannon, she
said – the chipped

tooth on the
water pump the
Hubba Bubba in
the hair – the

snowball
in the back at the
bus stop – that hurt
less than its
derisions and
snarls -- or the size

four antique
buckle shoes – I
crammed on my
teen feet’s
size eight.

____

SHOES
by Andrew Ulanowski

Shoes, shoes, the musical fruit
They kill my feet but they’re SO CUTE!

I’m supposed to be writing this STUPID poem about shoes,
but, I’ve decided that I’m going to protest the fact that
while shoes come in many assortments of
size, color, material, style, etc.
Seems someone forgot a very important category indeed . . .
flavor!
With that said, I vow from now on only to wear banana leaves
on my feet, held on by some string or perhaps some old bungie chord,
shunning shoe-dom until justice (and tasty shoes) have been served.