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Sample Poems by Martha Deborah Hall


A Going Away Party

"Ready, Teddy?" I mean "ready, Debbie?" No, wait. I have showered, but I still have to brush my teeth. What are you talking about? What teeth do you have left to brush? Don't you remember on Tuesday you had your last six teeth pulled? All of them? You've got it. There are none left to brush. I also had twelve shots of Novocain. But the day before the appointment I was very considerate and threw my tootsies, I mean toothies, (I'm somewhat stuttering so far) a bye-bye party. I served up three dark chocolate bars, one piece of lemon meringue pie, a huge dish of pistachio ice cream, fifty Tic Tac fresh mints, three blueberry waffles, a bottle of cream soda and, last but not least, some boring and yukky spinach salad. But "Hello, Dentist Goody," my new false teeth are too big to yak back at you, so I'll just slurp out the fact that I must also get back to see you about my pain in the neck aching gums.


Getting Rid of…

I gave my son six Ziploc bags filled with Plackers on Sunday. Why? You don't need Plackers if you don't got teeth, and I don't got any anymore. I had all eight of my "leftovers" pulled in the last several months. In recent weeks I've also given to the local Salvation Army and Goodwill store: six evening soiree Longie skirts, four pairs of capris, six pairs of leather shoes, and six patent leather ones. All these items have now gone to lie in the weeds, as they say. Wait! I have to go brush my teeth. What? They're gone. Remember? So stop worrying about your teeth and go write a book. Don't start resting on your laurels. Start to brush away your clouds of anger in life. Blare, blast them away. Then go downtown to Amherst, New Hampshire's Moulton's Village Store and buy yourself four slices of pumpkin pie topped with tons of whipped cream, in honor of your "toothies" departure. And, oh, BTW, you can add fourteen pieces of candy corn next to the pie slices to celebrate this year's Halloween.


How to Climb an Avalanche

In the mail yesterday I received a brochure sent from a prestigious nearby college inviting me to enroll in an eight-week course on how to be successful in climbing an avalanche. I needed to find my dictionary to inform (reinform) myself as to what an avalanche's components include-not that I ever knew. Couldn't find it (the dictionary). Anyway, I'm busy that day, those days. And, even if I wasn't, I'll just shovel and traverse my needed walkways in life instead. I don't want or need any avalanche terrain trip-trap climbing lessons in life anymore, especially since I've been quite successful in connecting at least now to its fullest with its definition of goodness (life's). But I do know I don't need any large uncontained masses of snow, with ice, rocks or other swift-motion mountainside materials in it to bury my fulfillments or hopes therein. But thank you, anyway, Messieurs Mr. College and Mr. Postman.


In My Belly's Fat

I started disbelieving in God and goodness around the age of eight. Whose fault was it? Not God's, but my parents. I finally did go back to church at the age of 45 after my "MDH faults and reasons" divorce. But today, at the age of 78, I need an attitude other than Lidia Yuknavitch's who said, "Jesus Christ, you wuss. Get out of the car." But I keep thinking I should go to Al-Anon meetings rather than church. There, I could probably portray what went wrong in my life and why, and how at this age how I should deal with it. But do I want anyone in Amherst, New Hampshire to see my car with MDH on the plates to be parked at the Amherst Congregational Church on a Monday night at 6:30 at this type of a get-together? I also don't want to go to friends' birthday parties, Christmas parties, or college reunions anymore. That's me. But I do walk every day. Rain or shine…We had two feet of snow in Amherst recently and I still walked. No excuses were allowed. They (the excuses) tried to convince me to stay cuddled on the couch but failed. But, "You'd better get yourself to an Al-Anon meeting, Hall, or you are a wuss."