Cold air, frosted ground
December morning wanders
Into October
Olive oil question:
How is it that something can
Be extra virgin?
October’s the month
To adopt a shelter dog
Diamonds in the “ruff”

Fog in and around my neighborhood this morning reminded me of this batch, written Feb. 16, a really foggy day this year:
Haiku rolling in
Blotting out any hope for
Some good poetry
I feel a kinship
With the fog rolling in as
I too am quite dense
I am so foggy
I can’t remember when it
Last was this foggy
In NYC, sure,
But strange to be in KC
When that foghorn blows
And forget the knife
Better get out the chainsaw
To cut this baby
Like the fog, cliches
Can be as thick as pea soup
This kind of weather
We’ll have our breakdown
Right here, thanks; no need to get
To Foggy Mountain
Stevie Nicks could dig
Witchy, misty atmosphere
Fit for a Welsh bog
Like a shot of hootch
Fog makes many things blurry
Around the edges
“How’d you like that wrapped?
“In guilt? Confusion? Some angst?”
“No, I’ll take the fog”
Cheers, luv! Cheerio!
It’s Poetry Day, U.K.
Wonder what that means?
Because over there,
Lift means elevator, not
“Boost to your spirits”
Speaking of spirits,
The Brits get pissed, but that means
They’re drunk, not angry
If you’re pissed you might
Need both AA’s — the Brits’ means
Accident Assist
And liquor means broth
I guess that’s why the chef said,
“This chicken is stewed”
Crisps are chips and chips
Are fries, and biscuits are sweet
Much like our cookies
Lemonade’s fizzy
Not flat like ours — and you sleep
At your flat, if tired
And sex, OMG:
Hookers play rugby and knobs,
Well, they’re not on doors
And if someone’s there,
Ahem, banging on your door
They say you’re knocked up
Beaver means “man’s beard”
Don’t wanna know how they parse
The term “splitting hairs”
Chagrin seems built in
Lavatory means toilet
Not sink, so don’t drink!
And pants are undies
Best not to ask about pants
At second-hand shops
Averse to a verse?
No! Line ’em up, Anglo-phile,
For Poetry Day
B.o.A. website
Down again; bank’s lame advice:
Don’t ask, do teller