Norwegian bachelor farmer days I never lived

Woebegone and egg foo young on you
meaning me of course
sidestepping a crucial positive

electric kool aid battery acid test

prior to pledging troth,
and tying Gordian knot
to strangulation point,

never fending for myself,
nor being disaster about to happen.

I did house/pet sit when parents
went away on their time sharing vacation
minimally satisfyingly jump/

kick starting, placating, compensating

for dashed unwed state
offering smattering of taste
regarding all those unrealized
golden (gated) opportunities.

Case in point conducting,
honoring, liberating unstinting pyromaniac
kindling burning man within me

continuously aggravating, enraging, and inflaming
Lower Providence fire department.

When roaring towering inferno
crept frightfully close to nearby houses,
yours truly banked on his guardian angel

rescuing me as smoldering tinder
spread like... what else wildfire.

The dolled guise firewoman incarnate
none other than Mary Poppins,

who still appeared rather gracefully slick
(especially during rainy weather)

at 17 Cherry Tree Lane, London England

could pull off cheap trick

or think super tramping Glinda
protagonist courtesy film Wizard of Oz

Good Witch of the North

ruler of the Quadling Country

 

South of the Emerald City,

and protector of Princess Ozma

riding her reo speedwagon

at light speed in nick

of time (in case of flat tire)

she will travel on her

state of the art broomstick,

but unfortunately said

courteous wonder women

long since retired though the former

 

still residing in her dotage

at the Banks residence,
nevertheless in an emergency

either one or the other

willingly avail themselves
providing freelance capering

constituting steep consulting fee services

while comfortably holed up

in their respective bailiwick.

After extinguishing blaze,
she and her sidekick The Cat In The Hat,

who just showed up out of thee blue (flame)
briefly secretly conferred

before delivering merriment
to drudgery of housekeeping chores
training, loosing, and applying

their joint secret powers
both as domestic facilities managers.

 

They gingerly launched, pitched,

tackled traditional domestic disaster,
with collective snap, crackle, and pop
of handy dandy magic fingers
before disappearing themselves.

 

A sudden whoosh rectified
messy living quarters

overflowing with countless generations

well fed healthy energized dust bunnies
automatically relegated and swept into dustbin
suppressing urge to boastfully brag
to nobody in particular.

Whistling while I worked
yours truly simultaneously

cooked gourmet cuisine
excelling serving culinary house
special of the day,
qua charcoal brisket ala burnt offerings,
potchkying, scalding yours truly
courtesy untimely uncovering
pressure cooker, or weathering
comedy of errors
flipping upside down

all's well that ends well,
or experiencing severe
irreparable psychological trauma,
vis a vis creating hell's kitchen
house of horrors, mortal mishaps,
world wide webbed
series of unfortunate events,
or shenanigans deemed rite of passage
including indulging sybaritic life

linkedin with living single

fancy free and footloose,

 

thus imperative for this bard

to compensate aforementioned loss
postulating poetically
prevaricating potschking

as chef boyardee

envisioning, speculating, ruing
laundering with excess detergent
feigning enjoying drowning,
actually playfully wallowing
within sea of bubblicious sudsiness,

Spongebob Squarepants would die for
(unless he happens tubby in Darfur,

no particular rhyme nor reason),

while there purchasing
for this unassuming
devil who wears prada
mine surprise constituting
red badge of courage

surviving helter skelter welter

trials and tribulations

knowing I got true grit
(courtesy powder milk biscuits)

accruing commensurate

valuable salient raw bits self survival skills
unexpectedly apprenticed with a book deal.