a-Whoooo arrrrre ha-Yooo?

So, methinks it best, having impressed myself on dear friends of most infinite patience, to compose, as it seemed suited to the occasion, a few lines of verse, by which my dears might know the degree of my gratitude.  In other words, one last morning dookie:

mike's hookah

he bought it the other day; we told
him to keep the noise down, but
his greasy tobacco's in the fridge,
the ceramic top with the mugs.

the metal pan is with the pots;
the hose is by the vacuum.
just yesterday I put fresh cut
flowers in seemingly a vase.

he smokes the damn thing for hours -
each day - he does - we all
tag along: everything impenetrable
to light but not to smoke.

And the following I managed to put together while Pacchan was grunting intermittantly over a conference abstract, Gimlet was FLYING THRU THE UNIVERSE WAHOO!!!!, and I was staring at the VCR while chugging a Diet Coke.

her hair was Hi-Fi silver
draping the VCR;
a bluescreen with hashmarks told me
she'd been playing me and would
againagain - beginagain;
the tape keeps winding and un-
doing her blouse, buttoning mine
one at a time to rewind our trist:

her skirt is a coaster to her waist,
and my hand reaches for the handle.

That last one's not so great, I know, but we can't all be cheeky MFAs in poetry slowing me down as I'm just trying to catch my fucking bus, dammit!