The Price Tag


Such things as underwear or socks

Don’t always fit

But price tags always stick

The neck tie and the shirt

Will sometimes slip

But don’t forget

The price tag always sticks

The glove the scarf may sometimes twist

But don’t despair the price tag always sticks


Ted Goodell

July 25, 2015




Through doors that open

On my mother’s socks

I see a crumpled Kleenex

Certainly one of many used

In the patient act of

Blowing or wiping.

A stray now,

Displaced from the plastic pail

Which holds the residue of

Surplus tossings through a

Stalactite of socks.


Our mornings arise

From a myth of

Pancakes and perfumes.


We halt our impressions

By the side of the sink.

How easy it is

To flush and forget.


Ted Goodell



Joe Six Pack


I have seen “Joe Six Pack”

Scratching his crotch

Yawning and stretching

In yesterdays socks

His large intrepid form

Still in its adolescent bulk

Hungers for beer in its six-pack shape

While his pals parade their latest jokes

And breathe their stale remarks

About some “lousy bitch”

Who wrenched them from their stench of sleep

And mocked their bitter indolence

With all a woman’s strength could reach,

And after all her pride is spent,

Emptied by his endless lust,

She sheds what’s left

Of all her dreams

And spills her crystal tears

Upon his unwashed face


Ted Goodell

October 4, 2008