Coccygectomy Fun

Many years ago, when Andrea was first in high school, she suffered a tailbone injury that required its removal. Because Andrea had suffered so long, and Dr. Leon Dickerson of the Charlotte Spine Center was the only one to offer her relief, a simple “thank you” did not seem enough. Nothing would. I wrote some new words to an old song, one of my very favorite things to do, and sent it to him with our undying gratitude. I recently came across the song, as well as Dr. Leon’s note of grateful delight, and decided to post it.

For me, it represents the end of a very difficult chapter in our lives – one in which we had to make a decision as parents that could have ended badly. We searched long and hard, found a wonderful surgeon, and placed our daughter’s future in his hands. He did not disappoint. Dr. Leon’s post-surgical excitement at the odd shape of Andrea’s tailbone was gratifying, but something more seemed to be called for. And so this song rip-off became the ode to our hero.



Sung to the tune of “Fun, Fun, Fun” by the Beach Boys [1964]


Well she went to a ballgame and she sat on a really hard seat, now
(…really hard seat, now, a really hard seat…)
Some more games with no pad for her rear and it really got beat, now
(…really got beat, now, it really got beat…)
And the pain got so bad that it knocked her right off of her feet, now
(…off of her feet, now, right off of her feet…)
But she’ll have fun, fun, fun, when her doctor takes her tailbone away.
(…fun, fun, fun, when her doctor takes her tailbone away…)


Well, she practiced in the drum line for band, tried to march in a game, now
(…marched in a game, now, she marched in a game…)
But the heavy bass drum wore her down and she just came up lame, now
(…just came up lame, now, she just came up lame.)
Though she marched competitions, we can tell that she’s just not the same, now
(…just not the same, now, she’s just not the same…)
But she’ll have fun, fun, fun, when her doctor takes her tailbone away.
(…fun, fun, fun, when her doctor takes her tailbone away…)


Well, she missed playing softball and she spent the whole spring broken-hearted
(…broken her heart, now, it’s broken her heart…)
Cuz it hurt when she sat, when she bent, when she walked, when she darted
(…just couldn’t dart, now, she just couldn’t dart…)
Oh but things will get better after she and her tailbone have parted
(… really must part, now, they really must part…)
And she’ll have fun, fun, fun, when her doctor takes her tailbone away.
(…fun, fun, fun, when her doctor takes her tailbone away…)


Well, she had to take a pillow to school just to cushion her butt, now
(…to cushion her butt, now, to cushion her butt…)
And she had to use crutches at times it was too painful to strut, now
(…too painful to strut, now, too painful to strut…)
But it’s all over now that the doctor made his surgical cut, now
(…his surgical cut, now, his surgical cut…)
And she’ll have fun, fun, fun, now the doctor took her tailbone away.
(…fun, fun, fun, now her doctor took her tailbone away…)


Now, she’ll have fun, fun, fun! Dr. Leon took her tailbone away!

Ode To My New Kitchen Counters

I sweep the sponge toward the sink to a serenade of tings and plops,
As every manner of crumb and smidgen, heretofore unseen, hit stainless steel.
The dishcloth glides over the sleek and shiny surface,
Catching here and there on spots of inconspicuous residue.

What could that be, I ask in hushed tones, and from where did it come?
And whence this puddle in which I have, unheeding, laid down my mail?
Perhaps some errant condensation from my glass of chilled nectar
That lies in aqueous wait, unnoticed by the mortal lens.

And there, a russet splash, adding to the variegated pattern of my stone.
Gone with a swipe, a lonely remnant of my goblet of glorious Merlot,
As are the droplets of delicious marinara left too long to simmer
On the stove, bubbling and adding its color to the festive pattern.

Alas, there is the kibble that I heard but could not see escape the bowl,
That tiny morsel of feline sustenance that bounced away
To make its escape both from its fate and my perfunctory hunt.
And lo the twist tie I could not find to seal my bag of bread, reclaimed.

I thought life with you would be so carefree. No slave to every spot
As in days gone by, a yellow expanse tormenting with each speck.
No. You call to me like a siren, taunting me with the hidden mysteries
Of what could be fermenting on your delicious, shiny, carapace.

Carpet Spots

Ghostly spots where ne’er a spill
Has happened, they’re appearing still.
I spray and scrub until they’re done,
And weeks will pass. I’ll think I’ve won.

So slowly, then, they’ll show themselves,
As if they’re conjured by the elves
Or shades, or demons in the night
That set upon the land a blight!

Not once, not twice, but thrice I’ve tried,
So many potions I’ve applied.
But every time the shadows grow,
And whence they come I do not know.

Perhaps they are not of this world,
But from some dark existence hurled!
A portal may be trying to form
From worlds where alien hordes will swarm!

And I and my determined scours
Are all that stand ‘twixt theirs and ours.
With great Resolve and all my might,
I vow to not give up the fight!

With brush and bucket in my hand,
I venture forth to make my stand.
Breach the void I swear they’ll not!
Henceforth my war cry, “Out, damn spot!”