The Whole Enchilada

 

The enchilada glories

In its Mexican ancestry

It thrives on a democratic public

But not exclusively

For the enchilada

Will always be the food

For patrons of the recipe for hope

The resiliency of taste

The sacredness of joy

 

Ted Goodell

March 22, 2015

Picnic Sunday

 

A picnic is death’s interlude;

A combustion of sandwiches

And armpits.

A brazen storm of barbeque and beer,

A thoroughfare to the madhouse.

 

But my walk on the road,

Beneath the pines,

With only the company of crows,

Is an anthem far stronger

Than this raucous chorus from hell.

 

Ted Goodell

1984

 

Ode to Testis

 

The testicles hang side by side,

Swaying twins, silent tumbling

Mates in celestial song

They navigate in stormless

Circles, shy orbiting seeds.

 

Partisans, side by side

They swirl and pivot,

Smooth and elliptical they roll,

They circle in dark

Orbital space

Sprouting a million stars,

Devoted swimmers

In a sea no swooping

Sounds disturbs.

 

Ted Goodell

1978

 

The Bracelet

 

Around her wrist

An ornament of silver shines

Its loveliness is not illusion

But a fact

Illuminated like a flower

That turns into a spring of flowers

Whose petals now adorn a magic fire

 

What incandescent force compels

This lace of silver to entwine your wrist

To purchase the allure of placement

Where it circles over skin and bone

Before its round configuration

Orbits over all our lonely destinations

 

Ted Goodell

December 30, 2010

To Rent or Not to Rent

 

To rent, or not to rent,

That is the question:

Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind

To suffer a Landlord month by month

Or to take arms against

A fluctuating Real Estate

And by well planned discretion

Own or rent; no more-

Ay, there’s the problem;

For who could bear

The agony of unexpected

Rent increases, the insolence

Of unpaid bills, the Law’s

Intolerance, the impatient

Scorns of disprized Landlords

Contribute to that dread

Of all who rent

And by that dread

Discover, in that undiscovered country

Called Ownership, those ills we bear

Until we fly to freedom

And avoid despair

 

Ted Goodell

July 30, 2008