BONUS SONNET: In Which I Take A Slightly Inebriated Bike Ride

A few beers 'neath my belt from Kevin's pad,

Deep Blue between my legs under a sky

Both deep and dark, a bright moon and a tad

Too much effusive joy to act as guide

I pedaled swiftly home. The Greenway's glow

In moonlight kept me safely within bounds

Though my gaze was turned up more, toward the show

Up there, as Venus shyly made her rounds

Close to our satellite, which so has caught

Our thoughts, imagination for so long.

Just slightly off my stride, I perhaps ought

Not to have been a-biking, but no wrong

Or harm came to me; truly I felt charmed

And now am home all safe and yes, unharmed.

BONUS SONNET: A Hermit, Humbled

Blood drives have set my social calendar

For too long now, I see, as my worst friend,

Who no longer runs Cheyenne's events -- er...

No longer makes the standard call whose end

Is tapping me, for which the dear still thinks

He needs to ply me with a fun night out

Of catching up, bar trivia and drinks.

He knows better, of course, but now without

That fall-back we have let a month go by.

Today I noticed this and felt bad, so

A bowling night has drawn me out. Now I

Sit in the alley drinking with comrades

And humbled. They forgive me these, my bads.

BONUS SONNET: Night Of The Collie

A normal night was how this ev'ning seemed;

I even had a good ride on my bike.

But then in Molly's eye a blood drop gleamed.

Her patient gaze tore through me like a spike.

Good old Cheyenne, on Sunday night no vets

Are taking calls; to Fort Collins they say

Must after hours folk with injured pets

Repair or wait til 9 a.m. next day.

She start swatting at her injury

And seemed to tear it open that much more.

So off we went, two pals, my dog and me

On south to find the truth behind the gore.

It's minor, I am glad now to report.

But getting home was its own winter sport.

Making Friends On The Blood Bus

I feel so light; in fact I'm a pint shy,

And learned today's that Kev's a sonnet pimp.

While in the canteen talking to some guy

Who'd joked along and raced me to the crimp

('Twas blood drive day down at the BLM

And I, again, was called in to make up

A short projection). As the two of them

Sat with me while I sipped about a cup

Of juice, my worst friend gleefully did spill

The beans about this blog to Marty, who

Thought that it sounded cool, and said he will

Try looking at these sonnets. If you do,

Then, Marty, you're a cool guy and I'm glad

I bled beside you, and spoke up, I'll add.

In Which I Ponder The Fairness Of Horse Trading

I'm not a big sports fan, ev'ryone knows --

But even I know when to cry out foul

(With help from Kris and Kevin). I oppose

This trading of Jay Cutler, join the howl

Of disapproval of this trade (though I've

A tiny snarky smile)! The drama of

Who didn't get along with whom -- I strive

To keep from laughing out loud, for all love --

They sound like spoiled, squabbling kids and one

Just picked up all his toys and went to find

Some other kids to play with. I'm 'bout done.

The Denver Broncos only cross my mind

When they've done something stupid anyway --

So really this is just another day.

BONUS SONNET: The Night Of The Pug

The pug that will be Kevin's lives quite far

From Cheyenne town; to see him took a trip

That we were glad to make in Kevin's car,

But Michael took his own 'cause he's too hip

To wait around to watch us old folks coo.

'Twas fine until we made the journey back,

And Michael slid right off the road and through

A fence. Looked like a crash! My heart attack!

Call 911! A deputy arrived,

With wisecracks in his police car, and coached

My boys through their first tire change, contrived

To make it all quite funny. Then he broached

The subject, pouring on the drawling flatt'ry,

Of just how dead was our poor Kevin's batt'ry.

In Which I Prepare To Help Start A Family

Tonight, just when my work day fin'ly ends,
A charming duty calls me on a trip.
My mission is to introduce two friends
One with a puppy, one who's going to flip
When he meets Poncho Pug, the new recruit
To our small doggie circle. He will join
A motley crew: a collie, two shitzpoos,
A yorkie and another. I enjoin
This doggie-dad-to-be from shedding tears,
(But prob'ly he will anyway) when he
Meets his new pal. We'll all give forty cheers
To have a baby dog around the scene
Perturbing our friend's life and his routine.

In Which I Ponder A Happy Chain Reaction

It got its start when Kevin bought a house.
He is a bit carefree, I will just say.
My sister heard the news, began to grouse,
And came to the conclusion that she may
As well do so; if he could so could she.
She shopped around, and chose, and moved right in.
The dial took a spin and stopped on me.
I took the step, though not without chagrin.
I'm glad I did, and anyone who cares
May hear this tale, as did a pal of mine.
She caught the bug and now she boldly fares
Into the market, husband at her side.
Did Kevin start a cycle, or a tide?

My Happiness Officer is Now Six Years Older Than Justin Timberlake. Haw!

A short while back, my sister said to him
"The Broncos coach is younger, now, than me!"
And Kevin quipped, because he's somewhat dim
"Most people are!" and laughed tee-hee with glee.
The world and time are catching up, though, now.
Our birthday boy has reached his thirty-third.
Though youthful looks continue to endow
His face, he's no spring chick, more an old bird.
His heroes just get younger; those sports stars
And pop icons that Kevin so admires
Would call him old if they met him in bars
Or in the wilderness at their bonfires.
But what the hell, let's give the guy his day,
Buy him some beers and tell him he's okay.

Beer for Dinner, Or How I Went Out with My Worst Friend but Still Wrote a Sonnet

It's Thursday evening in this little town,
And there might not seem to be much to do,
But, thanks to Kevin, I've no cause to frown.
I watch him bowl and cheer until I'm blue
(Of face, that is) and there's an added plus:
His bowling league includes a small side game,
A weirdo form of bingo that works thus
(And if it doesn't, I don't take the blame):
A bingo space gets daubed if there's a match
Between its number and a bowler's score.
That they must hit these numbers is the catch.
If they don't, then I just laugh and drink some more.
Although betimes they do call my attention
To an error, in ink or comprehension.