In Which Schadenfreude Isn't Going To Cut It

While part of me can't fight the urge to say
"I'm kind of glad it isn't only us" --
There really isn't any decent way
That anything requires this kind of fuss.
Olympics are a plum, we're always told,
And something over which great cities fight
For hosting priv'lege. Might I be so bold,
However, and observe that this stuff might
Make others hesitate, in the first world
To offer to abide such things? I think
In future, when the colored rings, unfurled
Are offered, they will simply cause a stink
Of NIMBYism. They'll be banishéd
Like toxic waste to the third world instead.

In Which Is Considered Color and Chemistry

So Twitter, like my father, likes me blonde.
I cared not for it when I was a kid --
The jokes, you see -- but now I know what fond
Acclaim might greet me, mayhap I am bid
To keep my locks this Lannisteran hue?
I'll ponder this awhile, and let my friend
Whose alchemy achieved it have her say
As well - hers is the effort, in the end,
This yellowing of strands all gone to grey
Through art that modern science neatly makes
So possible: while modestly I sit
And chatter through the num'rous pains she takes.
It's eye-catching, I guess, perhaps a bit?
Ah, vanity, though truly, t'was for dad
To cheer him through events that made him sad.

James "Ben" Sherrod, Farewell and Rest In Peace

Folks ask me how it's so that I've no fear.
In part, I tell them, it is just because
I'm of this tribe, together year by year
And day to day, though later distance was
A factor. Something I have always known:
My uncle had my back, just as my dad
Has had my cousins'. Thus secure, I've grown
Into a stronger person; I have had
The fierce and doting love of Ben Sherrod
For all my days. Of this there's been no doubt.
I know that's rare, and some may call me fraud.
I feel for them, who've had to do without
A rock like he has been. And now, I, too
Must share that lack. Dear Uncle, I'll miss you.