That Touch of Mint, with Cary Grant
and Doris Day (100 Words)
They walked into a rustic bar
to drop their guard that night,
but as they wished upon a star
she startled with a fright.
She saw a moth fly toward the light
and said she had a fear
of bugs which fly around at night
then land a bit too near.
They ordered drinks; a brew for him,
for her, a sweet delight.
His dark foam slowly topped the brim;
her scent of mint was bright.
A sudden scream would pierce the
night,
“A bug is in my beer!”
He took a sip, laughed in delight,
“Your Grasshopper, my dear.”
Neighbors In Your Lessonhood
(100 Words)
She garnered knowledge back in
college
of some things you can’t acknowledge
to your fathers, sisters, brothers—
lessons that aren’t taught by
mothers.
More than she had learned before
from older boys who knew the score,
she learned to snare from girls who’d
dare
to share their secrets of mancare.
She’d give advice about the spice
of life which sometimes causes
strife,
but few details on what prevails
to sweeten up her fairy tales.
Those secrets known to her alone
were not for sharing, but to own,
yet not a few of her friends knew
those mysteries—and others, too.
Hoopless
(100 Words)
He fought to rebound once again,
contemptuous of other men,
and drove full speed across the court
in hopes of one more last resort
with full intent to penetrate
the strong defense she’d generate.
All focus had been placed on him
as he approached the sacred rim—
then slapped away just as his finger
made a gesture meant to linger.
Shouting that he’s on the prowl,
both technical and flagrant foul
were called for being out-of-bounds,
providing her with ample grounds
to banish him, ignore his plea
henceforth unto eternity.
Instead of scoring as he planned,
he was permanently banned.
Time Washes On
(100 Words)
“Right now” becomes “then” by the end
of each moment;
as time marches on in the foam it
will foment
new waves on the shore, each one like
that before
although never the same and soon gone
evermore,
moving each grain of time, leaving
most of them there
for the next wave to hit as it takes
its fair share,
for an instant exchanging while it’s
rearranging
our here and our now which are
constantly changing.
The past stays behind and the
future’s ahead,
but when we arrive, it becomes now
instead
while pondering whether it left hope or dread.
Scoping You Inside-Out
(100-Word Sonnet)
The snake’s main task along its
bending route;
discover what’s askew at every spot.
Not null but void, you now feel
inside out
because of time deployed upon the
pot.
Enabled, as you were, by fluid meds
and potions worse than Shakespeare’s
witches’ brews
whose toils and troubles every user
dreads,
you offer up the very best of views.
Meanwhile, avoiding fiber and NSAIDs,
penultimately drinking every meal,
enduring drought since neither drink
nor breads
may pass through lips now parched by
your ordeal.
Although I’d sensed discomfort long
ago,
this time, they knocked me out—I
missed the show.
Ken Gosse usually writes short, rhymed verse using whimsy and humor in traditional meters. First published in First Literary Review–East in November 2016, he has also been published by Pure Slush, Home Planet News Online, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, and others. Raised in the Chicago, Illinois, suburbs, now retired, he and his wife have lived in Mesa, AZ, for over twenty years, usually with rescue dogs and cats underfoot.
