I am known as “Fake Dad” to Joan’s two boys — Max (whose first name is Joel) and Joel (whose first name is Joel). [Don’t ask! Before my time!] Be that as it may, “Fake Dad” is important to the gist of the story, as you will see…
I saw “Joel the Younger” recently, and we reminisced about many things, including the following:
One Thanksgiving Monday, after a fabulous Joaner dinner, the adults in attendance were recovering in the family room, and the boys were upstairs playing the latest in an ongoing and never-ending series of video games.
Presently, Joel appeared to inform us that he had an English assignment that was due the next day — a poem about autumn. After the usual “What?!?” “How long have you known about this!?!” chiding and reprimanding, I suggested that, rather than continuing the admonishments, we open another bottle of wine and make the writing of Joel’s poem a group effort.
And we did.
I think we may have censored the last stanza slightly, but any teachers that I know would have loved it as written, and undoubtedly would have been reading it aloud in the staff room at lunch break.
In rereading now for this blog entry, I recall that we did have a lot of fun writing it, and, I have to say — it’s a pretty good poem!
So, here it is (uncensored, of course):
by Joel Abramson & Friends
I love the tastes of Autumn.
Pumpkin pie in the oven,
Clouds of whipped cream
I love the look of Autumn.
Brown, Orange, Crimson and Gold.
Harvest moons like Jack O’Lanterns
I love the sounds of Autumn.
Grackles sing goodbye.
Fallen leaves like skeleton bones
I love the smells of Aut….
“What the hell just died?”
Fake Dad rips another turkey fart
(Yeah, Joel got an A!)