CPR (Chicken Parmesan Risotto)

Chicken Parmesan Risotto (CPR)

One night Phil said:

“Arlene? Can you cook chicken?”

She turned on the stove

As this story plot thickens.

She just learned CPR

And she wanted to cook

As the oven got hotter

She decided to look.

Hmmm…looks kind of dry

Oh well, Phil doesn’t mind

And he’s willing to try

She served it up well

And Phil took a bite

He turned sort of blue

This did not look right.

He grabbed at his throat

This looked like a sign

Then she remembered

CPR!  Just in time!

She turned Phil around

And squeezed him quite hard

She thought; “What if he pukes?”

They moved to the yard.

Phil was still blue

And was getting restless

Lack of oxygen does that

And can leave you breathless.

At last, Arlene won

The chicken ejected

Phil was almost normal

New dinner plans selected

Shall we eat out tonight?

Phil suggested with candor

Call Tom & Nelle, but

Tell them “NOT Colonel Sanders!”

  

From Tom & Nelle,

After Boothbay Harbor Visit

with Phil & Arlene Perlman

July 14, 2015

The Last Mackerel

The Last Mackerel

The engine starts in my old boat

Reluctantly, as the hydraulic steering

Kicks in with a bang.

We make our way, the same way now

For weeks. Scanning the fish-finder,

My brother swears its on “Demo” mode

As the blips indicate a fish or two.

We fish with everything we have and can buy

But there are no more fish.

The screen is empty for miles…Then, a stronger image

Appears.  We jig and dip Christmas tree rigs

And finally, my grandson pulls up a fish

It is the mackerel we have been seeking

He is alone and small and weak

We jiggle the hook from his jaws

And release him, fearing he may be

The Last Mackerel.

FTC – Summer, 2015

Off Ducktrap in “Big Red”, our 1972 Beals Island Lobsterboat

The Empty Bowl

The Empty Bowl

The blueberries were ready

The potatoes done

Elizabeth’s mouth watered

Dinner would be fun!

She sat at her place

At the well-scrubbed table

Fork at the ready

She was hungry and able.

Her father was worried

About the rent that was due

The crops had been meager

The season was through.

He loaded the wagon

With the spuds and the berries

And headed for town

Brow creased with old worries.

Through the window

She saw him drive down the lane

She looked down at her bowl

Hunger pains now in vain.

Her mother dabbed at her eyes

Damp eyes on her broom

Then she covered the bowl

And walked from the room.

Tom Crowley

August 23, 2015

Lincolnville Beach, Maine