Sensory Overload

by Audra Ralls

Tradition of madness
    September State Fair
Come one and all
            Carnies entice

    Scents of secret comfort food
            funnel cakes  turkey legs
                      sno-cone delight    indian taco

Sun sears  tank top
shoulders          Sweat    d
                                            r
                                              i
                                              b
                                            b
                                            l
                                              e
                                                s
  a trail of droplets wishing for
            a gust of wind

Lovers link fingers    oblivious to others
  a roller coaster of hormones
        screams      thrills
arms wave              fingers grip

Ferris Wheel shadows
        the fantasy land
promising a view of      carnival
      crazines          carousel of kids

Money leaking        from
          limited sources caving to the
    begging and bantering
                  games    tickets    rides
                      I need more

Joints jerk and ache
  pushing through      lines of
strangers    going the wrong way

                Tummy
                        h  r  s
                          u  t
                  Mommy

Hours of memories
stored within    Sensory overload
          Now where'd we                          park the car

Reasons Why I Sing

by Audra Ralls

I have no pitch, nor musical ear.
In fact, my voice is something to fear.

And yet I sing . . . .

    I sing for
        coffee, good grades, sleeping late.
    Crowing about
        smiles, cash, even a first date.

I don’t know the words to many songs,
so I happily repeat them tragically wrong.

And yet I sing . . .

    I sing for
        babies, cake, a sparkling clean house.
    Crowing about
        football, phones, leaving that louse.

I embarrass my son with my tone deaf voice,
but hey, he’s my kid so he hasn’t much choice.

And yet I sing . . .

    I sing for
        family, Jesus, good hair days.
    Crowing about
        my son, snow, a job that pays.

I’m not Celine, Madonna, nor the Backstreet Boys.
I’m just an ordinary mom making a joyful noise.

And yet I sing . . .

    I sing for
        hotels, rainbows, our dog without ticks.
    Crowing about
        dominoes, nachos, good lottery picks.

I sing in my car; it’s my personal stage.
I’ll keep my song, you keep your road rage.

LalaLalalala  LaLa lelelalalal La La Leeeeee Lala lalala LA!