KIDS ATE THEIR POP TARTS

Writing a Memoir is sobering.

What to put in a book you’re calling,

“Confessions of a Blue Tomato”

What to leave out!

What about accountability?

Ay, there’s the rub.

Kids ate their pop tarts

washed down with our dregs,

We had Bloody Mary’s 

and Scrambled Eggs.

But, is this what the book is about?

Is it really about

Betty Crocker who mustn’t scream?

And isn’t it also about the Blue Tomato

who wrote songs because of

a broken heart?

Who also just edited in a scene

at a communications conference

that involved literature and sex

and was once a short story

I wrote called

Sleeping With Tolstoy.

What is my intent?

That’s what Marion the Librarian

is asking me in every sentence!

“What’s Your Intention?”

(That could be a Game Show!)

What kept me making my

unique entrances and exits

monologues and duets?

I want to write a story all the way from

showing my seven year old self

collecting paper and tin cans

and bacon grease,

delivering it to the meat man

to weigh and initial

so I can help win the War.

and get a Victory Badge.

Can that little girl be the Betty Crocker,

Blue Tomato
who Slept with Tolstoy --

and the woman who is writing this today?

This Memoir is an

 "I have a dream . . . story" 

to write music

to accomplish things 

to be somebody . . .

and has

 missed it a country mile,

as they say!

Yet, every time I set out to accomplish,

yet another bright idea,

there's a little optimistic soulful voice

down in “Who-ville”

that keeps cheering me on,

“Maybe, this time that dream

will come true!”

In one way I’ve already written it

in the lyrics in the Finale,

The Great Circle of Love,

from my musical -- Silent Dreams

“You have known, all along,

that inner song,

step inside, step inside, step inside

your soul.”

but will it pass the so, what, test?

 . . . stay tuned

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