Tonic water-less.

At least we’ve got gin and limes, ice.

That’s true...and whisky

Let’s go for a walk.

Okay.  Just let me get my

Stick for hitting dogs.

Hello there, doggy.

Why is your mouth all foamy?

Mad dog, mad dog, mad.

Monkeys are dirty.

They really make me nervous.

They can’t be trusted.

Roads bend back and forth.

Our driver has a death wish.

The seat belt’s broken.

Let’s play some cricket.

We need bowlers and batsmen.

No sticky wickets.

Mangoes--all juicy.

Sticky, intense, and orange.

India in fruit.

Bicycles zipping.

Cows and dogs and people too.

Where's the carpool lane.

Children with few things.

Given some pens with blue ink

They want black, instead.

Ivar, Bleepgok, Norb.

What's with all the crazy names?

Come on, IKEA!

Bangers and mash, please.

An evening at the theater.

Dinner in a cave.

Sleep late, eat omelets.

Enjoy a lazy Sunday.

Feed Harley at five.

Cadbury creme egg;

a soft-boiled chocolate

dream come true, indeed.

Happy Birthday to

You.  Happy Birthday to you.

Happy Birthday, you.

My gloves keep me warm.

My fingers thank me for them.

They say, "Thank Katey."

I'll use store credit

and think of you with every

purchase I make, for sure.

5

7

5

I started writing humorous poems in the 5-7-5 format of Anglicized Haiku as a fun way to send postcards to people during my travels.  I thought it’d make a much more enjoyable read for friends and family than the usual “Got up this morning and went to St. Peter’s. Wow!  Then we ate pasta and walked around the Colosseum.”  Snooze.  These are way better and very creative.

Bicycles zipping.

Cows and dogs and people too.

Where’s the carpool lane?

A pond bubbles and

Gurgles.  It teems with cat fish.

And poop, don’t forget.

I’ll pick an orange

And put it in the juicer.

Pukka pucker juice.

Toot, toot, little train.

They shouldn’t call you “Toy Train.”

‘Cos that’s kind of mean.

It’s 3:30, man.

Why are you shouting at me

Through that loud speaker?

Hurry up and wait.

The motto of India.

That or “It’s dirty.”

Three Cappuccinos

Foamy, coffee-y, tasty.

Dad had a latte.

I'll pick an orange

And put it in the juicer

Pukkah pucker juice.

Hurry up and wait.

The motto of India

That or "It's filthy."

Huddled in the rain.

Beer-battered cod and some chips

They’re salty, crispy.

Here since Friday morn.

Guinness at each pub, daily.

Twice when feeling low.

We’re at B&Bs.

With bacon, eggs, cold toast.

No leprechauns, though.

Wooded lanes; rock walls.

Driving fast and hairpin turns.

Wait, wait!  On the left!

Have one whisky and

Six more I gulp down with ease.

Kiss this, Blarney Stone!

Take off your top please.

We just made it to round two.

Where is that puppet?

The Fine and Dandy.

Oh, it makes one's mouth water

and whets appetites.

A Manhattan, please.

Bourbon, vermouth, a cherry.

Don't forget bitters!

Powerful women.

I fear they want to cut off

my johnson for fun.

Corned beef hash, eggs, toast.

Oh yes, the thought of breakfast

I'm hungry, thirsty.

Sun, warm me, will you?

Excite the atoms for me.

If you do, I'll nap.

Tilapia, man.

They eat anything for lunch.

They’ll be my dinner.

Two cities are one.

Goulash, paprikas, to eat.

Danube flows

Eat goulash, they said.

Eat goulash is what I did.

It was goulash-y.

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