Saturday, 20 June 2020

Little Pink Beetle by Naomi Elana Zener


 “Ouch” she yelled. Vision blurred.
“Vanity is pain,” was overheard.

Little Pink Beetle stared into a mirror,
Her front lights shining a little less clearer.

Above her headlights she batted new lashes.
Her mascara applied without any splashes.

With a spoiler to match her custom paint,
Souped up Beetle made plain cars faint.

Pretty, shiny, and as vain as could be.
Little Pink Beetle drove wild and carefree.

Engine roared driving down the road.
“Splat!” went the body of a big green toad.

Toad croaked, eyes rolled back in head
Little Pink sped off, leaving Toad for dead.

Taking a selfie from behind the wheel.
Pink hit a pig, and piggy went “squeal!”

“My bad,” Pink cried, still rolling along.
Blaring on her radio a techno song.

Turkey said “Gobble!” “Quack!” went Duck.
“Learn to drive!” said a blue dump truck.

“Watch out!” meowed Cat with her litter of kittens.
“Your wheels don’t need their fur for mittens!”

“Moo!” said Cow “Don’t turn me into steak.”
“Use the pedal on the left, it’s called a brake!”

“Sorry,” Pink cried, “I’m in a hurry.”
“Big car show to get to, I gotta scurry!”

All of a sudden a loud crash was heard
“I smashed my face,” Little Pink slurred.

Her fancy paint stripped, headlights now bare,
All of the animals stopped to gape and stare.

“Help, help,” Pink wailed with all her might,
Giving Horse, Hen, and Sheep a giant fright.

No beast offered to pick up her front grill,
Since each had escaped being her roadkill.

Lying bereft, smashed up in a ditch,
A dog walked by and called Pink a bitch.

“Why should we help you?” Horse queried of Pink.
“You drive crazy fast, think your shit don’t stink.”

Her eyes naked, free from fake lash extensions.
Little Pink Beetle lost all airs and pretensions.

Pink said “I’m sorry, I’ll change, I promise.”
But each critter stood there a doubting Thomas.

“No more makeup, fast driving, or fancy paint,”
The little Beetle swore that she’d now be a saint.

Valuing friends and life more than beauty and fame.
Pink saw her erred ways and hung her hood in shame.

Horse, Duck, Hen, Sheep, Cow, Turkey, and even Pig.
Nodded heads, gathered ‘round Pink, and started to dig.

Pulled out from the trench into which she was cast,
Thanking the wild things by which she’d drove past.

“Lets be friends,” Pink offered beeping her horn,
Out of vanity lost, new friendships were born.



© 2020. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.

Wednesday, 20 May 2020

FEEDING TIME AT THE ZOO by Naomi Elana Zener

I think you're cute, I think you're sweet,
But my darling daughter, dinner you must eat!
Food is to digest, to help you grow,
Tis not for practising your pitcher's throw.
I spent hours preparing the menu, shopping at the grocery store,
A gourmet pureed feast I concocted that you deemed fit for the floor.
As for the meager few bites that made it to your mouth,
Rasberry-blown out with little food bits that trickled down south.
Pasta and chicken are to be eaten with grace,
So please stop spitting it in mommy's face.
Chewing each bite slowly is considered polite,
Young lady it's unbecoming to start a food fight.
While you may disagree with mommy's fashion choice,
Wearing baby food was never in season says Ms. Wintour's voice.
Going to bed hungry my infant is a notion quite absured,
You'll wake up too quickly, mommy's sleep will be disturbed.
A struggle to force feed you seems pointless at this junction,
Off four hours of sleep tonight I will find a way to function.
And while you will go to bed with an empty belly,
Eight hours later you'll awaken with a full diaper, quite smelly.
The sun will greet us bright and early with breakfast anew,
My nightly prayer hopefully answered, no food struggle with you.
The chaos of baby-food fusion I have resigned to accept,
Each abstract expressionist food floor tableau away will be swept.
Humour now found in the joy you have making a food-nami,
A paparazzo of your performance art is now your mommy.
The parental battle with baby to eat is a time-honoured tradition,
One comes to learn that children must eat of their own volition.

© 2020 Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.

Saturday, 18 April 2020

Body Snap Back! by Naomi Elana Zener

Woe to me, my body no longer divine!
What has happened to this ass of mine?
Once taut and firm, ‘twas oh so appealing.
Now my size 27 jeans it is no longer feeling.
Oh sweet baby because of you I glow with pride,
Yet I have no waistline after this pregnancy ride.
Yes I knew gaining weight was part of the deal,
But did I have to ingest food with such zest and zeal?
You really only need to gain twenty pounds doctor advised.
If that's so true I now blame hormones for my new size.
Never before my pregnant life did a sweet tooth have I,
Yet with each baby kick I could not pass one dessert by.
As the saying goes with chips you can't eat just one,
I ate three whole bags daily and now weigh one ton!
My breasts resemble two-liter milk bags from the grocery store,
Enormous, saggy, floppy now hanging down to the floor.
Bras now accentuate deposits of fat on my back,
Hidden only by dresses that look like a potato sack.
Mirrors I must avoid, like a bear I hibernate,
Hoping one day my size will drop to an eight.
To return to size four is just crazy talk,
A fantasy my new thunder thighs mock!
Waving the flag I surrender to thigh chafing and burn,
But not for one moment of skinny my baby would I return! 
To hubby I complained of my voluptuous state,
No matter what I consumed I did not lose weight.
But I love you he said no matter what size,
That's very cute, but don't tell me such lies!
“You will always be beautiful in my eyes,” hubby said,
Not terribly convinced after finding Playboy under the bed. 
Motivated by my kid I wanted to be the picture of health,
Diet-delivery and personal trainers ate up my wealth.
Over time I lost my mom jeans and muffin top,
But occasional indulgences in cupcakes did not stop.
With a better body than I had pre-pregnancy,
Six months post-partum rather than three.
Able to sport my Prada, DVF and Miu Miu,
No longer did my body belong in the zoo.
Hubby appreciative of the results he observed,
Telling his friend I'm hot and sexy I overheard.
Out to dinner to celebrate the new body my trainer gave me,
Hubby raised his glass for a toast suggesting another baby.
Only having five minutes to enjoy my new physique,
No thank you, no maim to my body will I seek!
“Don't be silly,” he said, “you'll lose the baby weight again.”
Excitement for another pregnancy, I could not feign.
“Another baby is worth it,” he expressed unconvincingly.
A large family he wanted kids totaling three.
Confounded was I wearing an expression of vex,
How could he think with him I'd now have sex!
Not ready to return to a Shamu state of blubber,
Hubby don't ever come near me without wearing a rubber!

© 2020. Naomi Elana Zener.  All Rights Reserved.

Monday, 16 March 2020

Born During a Pandemic by Naomi Elana Zener

Corona!

Vodka!

Corona!

Vodka!


Those are possibly my names. Those words are what I keep hearing over, and over, and over, and over again. Did my mom and dad even pick a name for me? I wonder. I think I heard them say “Sue” at some point since I first saw the bright light and then lay on a soft, squishy surface. Something called ‘skin-to-skin’. I drink out of a bottle. Maybe, the liquid I’m drinking is Vodka or Corona? Or, both? I see my Mommy and Daddy drinking out of bottles, too.  But, those could also be my names. My name could also be Poo—I hear that word said a lot, too. No one calls me that but they talk a lot about it around me. I don’t like this, poo.

I’ve been on what the big people call “Earth” for the past four weeks, I’m told. They sing a song about how I’m a little baby 1 week old, a lot, but then stop at four weeks and say that is how old I am.  I don’t have any other source of information. So, I guess it’s not fake news. I hear “fake news” a lot, too. Something about how the virus is actually heat resistant, garlic is not a cure, and that anyone who thinks my older brother and sister and their friends are going back to school this year are delusional.  This virus doesn’t sound very good, so I don’t think my name is “virus”.

Someone named Woody has this virus, but my big brother and sister have said Woody is a toy and toys can’t get sick. My big brother hid his Buzz Lightyear toy in the closet to protect him from the virus. I also heard my mommy say that her boyfriend, Idris, has corona so maybe he has a baby named Corona, too? I don’t understand how he can be her boyfriend because my Daddy’s name is John. I’ve heard her say that name loudly a lot since I’ve been on Earth.

My big brother and sister like to hold and kiss me a lot. I hope they don’t have the virus everyone is talking about because they keep kissing me. I’ve heard Mommy say ‘do you want to make her sick?’ after they kiss me. I don’t think I like them very much. I haven’t been here long and they could make me sick? I will have to think about this.

I definitely know my name is not Blantons because Mommy and Daddy keep saying that it’s sold out. They seem upset when they say this. I don’t think my name would make my Mommy and Daddy upset. Also, I know I’m only four weeks old, but I don’t think names get sold out.

I wish my Mommy and Daddy would tell me my name so I’d know who I am. Just say ‘baby, your name is…’ instead of making me guess.  If you ask me, I would rather be called Vodka instead of Corona. When Mommy says Vodka she sounds less panicked. I think I’ll go with Vodka for now.


© 2020. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.


Thursday, 27 February 2020

Ode to My Daughter by Naomi Elana Zener



My little baby girl how cute and lovely are you,
But you leave me wondering about the strange things you do.
At first I was amused when you tried to feed from everyone's breast,
Now your lack of discretion is worrisome, please give it a rest!
Your appetite insatiable, your vaccuum mouth pressed to my cheek,
No milk will it yield but of your drool my face now reeks.
With an angelic smile on your middle finger you fervently suck,
And while it's cute as a baby, please know it's not a symbol of luck.
We thought it adorable when into your mouth both fists you inserted, 
As an adolescent girl a party trick not to be displayed or blurted! 
Your baby crack pacifier satiates your oral tendency,
Before you grow up you must lose that dependency.
Like a volcanic symphony your bowl erruptions are perplexing,
Finding feces everywhere but your diaper which we find quite vexing.
Lifting your skirt up as cute as it may be,
Is no longer ladylike after the age of three.  
While your smiles and giggles are simply heaven sent,
Understanding your peculiar behaviour leaves me quite spent.

ⓒ 2019. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.

Saturday, 25 January 2020

OTHER PEOPLE’S CHILDREN


My home is my castle, stylish and classy,
Eclectic design with a splash of sassy.
Upon announcing that our family was growing,
The news was met with joy and a sense of foreboding.
Shocked as we swore never to procreate,
Friends laughed amused by this twist of fate.
They said "You'll love your child, but your home will never be the same."
“Prepare for messes, wall destruction and furniture mame!”
Thankful for their caution, I vehemently disagreed,
For our child will be raised to be well-behaved indeed!
Taught not to touch without first asking permission,
Adults and kids living in symbiosis was our vision.
With our darling munchkin's arrival,
Determined to ensure our adult survival.
Lilliputan-friendly spaces were fostered.
Promising amiable living our lives not to be doctored.
The three of us plodding along in harmonious coexistence.
After time passed did that advice begin to make sense.
Puzzled by how friends used to compliment our taste.
How could they now come in and disrespect our space?
For it was not our child who wreaked havoc and mayhem,
It was their little monsters who were creators of bedlam.
Why is it when kiddies entered the scene,
Our ‘friends’ enabled their children's behaviour so obscene?
Screaming loudly and jumping on my furniture,
Proving a wrestling career only lay in their future.
Without asking they fed their rugrats on our velvet chair,
Spilling their drink and leaving crumbs everywhere!
Dumbfounded I wondered if they'd heard of a plate,
I'd like to lock them up with their kids in my dog's crate!
Taunting our dog resulting in barking like he's in prison,
These little monsters and their procreators caused in us an aneurism!
Touching anything in sight without asking first!
Destroying our belongings my temper about to burst!
Driving us insane without a care in the world,
These parents do not discipline their unruly herd.
‘Do they do this at home?’ I wondered in a moment contemplation.
Surely they must as it's furnished like a third world nation.
Adding insult to injury they talk about their kids non-stop,
Incessant one-sided chatter about them causes my head to pop!
Love your babes but no one wants to hear a narrative play-by-play,
About each fart, ounce of food, spit up and everything they do everyday.
Worse still they inquire nothing about my petite wonder.
My anger is bubbling in my heart I feel the rumble of thunder!
No matter how you choose to live this home is mine, not yours!
Please remove your kids at once for their behaviour I abhor!
Angel faced children only a mother could love,
Ones that were not heaven sent from above.
No longer a fan of other people's children,
My home will they never again be in.
While I admit any child can be messy and overly excited at times,
Outside of your home parents don't enable, make them tow the line.
And when your friend has a child after which you should inquire and don't,
You cannot expect such friendship to last as it won't.
So for now I put our friendship and your kids out to pasture to roam,
Leave my house, learn to reciprocate, but leave your kids at home!



© 2020. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights Reserved.