Curious Abner revisited


Created on; This was the second post of Curious Abner. This version included some editing. And so the character was born. I am eager to see where Ab’s adventures will take us.

(Posted on November 20, 2011
Written  by  Lee Broom)

Curious Abner licked a toad;

At least he thought it so.

For a moment or so it looked like a toad,

From head to warty toe.

“However”, said he, “I’m not so sure” for time now seemed to slow.

“Whatever it is that I did lick, I’m not sure that I know”

He pondered a moment and then “Aha, perhaps it was a stool,

Upon which sat a warty toad and made me such a fool.”

“ ‘Twas the shape” said he, “of which I’m not

so sure I’ll ever know.”

“But lick I did and shape be damned, I think its time to go”

(And fraught with a frustration due to a lack of fresh ideas, Abner pulled out his meetin’ book and ran his finger down the pages as he rehearsed for a moment.) “My name is Abner, a recovering orphan of the Big Hazy……………………”

Posted in Poetry|Tagged, Curious Abner, Question everything, recovering, sobriety |Leave a comment

© Lee Broom


Curious Abner’s Con

color039_sJPG_950_2000_0_75_0_50_50 Boys fishing in a bayou. Schriever, Louisiana, June 1940. Reproduction from color slide. Photo by Marion Post Wolcott. Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress

Curious Abner thought awhile,

(A while is all he had.)

The moment seemed to last forever,

(Forever’s not so bad.)

After all, thought Curio,

It only takes an instant

To contemplate creation,

How far is near or distant?


(To contemplate or “complicate”.)

He wondered with a grin

Content and yes, quite satisfied

With this intellectual spin.

While rolling in the aisle.

Curious Abner thought awhile.

(A while was all he had.)

By Lee Broom

Crap is a Feeling.


Crap is a feeling.

Feelings are good.

It’s when we don’t have them

(And know that we should)

That we worry.

But you’re still here in the neighborhood.

You’re sweaty, impatient

Your ready to kill

You want to fight

And you take your pill

So swallow

Wash it down

And wallow

Lay there in those stinky bed clothes

With bugs galore

But Goodness knows

You are almost well

And you know

Because you feel like crap

And that’s a feeling.

© Lee Broom

Buffalo Bill Kills a Fly and a Gnat with a Single Swat (there were no pigeons around).



On display for all to see who were able,

”It is eye”

Said the natty, gnat, gnat on the nose of the fly

Who was perched on the nose of an irritable guy; “Take that”.

And the irritable man, he swatted away

At the fly on his nose,

And the gnat (there he goes),

As his world went awry, said “goodbye”.


And the irritable man with the tie in his hand

Completed the Windsor knot.

And tucking at this and that around the collar until satisfied that “handsome is as handsome does”

(He loved this tie a lot),

Except for the spot

Where the fly had landed.

So happy he was that the fly was now gone. (the fly never really knew what hit him on the return approach).

The gnat by the way, was just that, In The Way.

And the hand of the man went SWAT once again

And returned to the view in the glass in the lav

And perfected the knot in his Brooks Brothers tie and said “Dang,

I’m a handsome man.”


The Beggar and the Businessman by Lee Broom



He appears from the darkness in silence; He may have been there for hours.
Like the minute hand on my Omega, I failed to notice him at first.


I speak; he glares.

The tattered apparition holds his gaze.

“May I pass please?” I attempt to move around him. “May I pass?”

He remains silent. His eyes hold mine. What are they telling me? He’s wearing a badly soiled, well-tailored, senatorially pinstriped suit, crafted apparently for a taller man in a different time, most certainly a better defined neighborhood. His attire assumes a sadness; a life of poverty? Perhaps a recently downgraded lifestyle forced upon him by difficult times?

I step to my right – he steps to his left.

“Please” I implore, “My lunch hour is over. I need to get back to my desk.” neither a minute flick of lash nor hint of furrowed brow.

I breathe deeply and attempt to relax the imagined lines in my forehead. He remains implacable; an immovable stoic with an unknown plan. What does he have on his mind. His left hand is hidden in the left trouser pocket where gentlemen account for their coins. Is he holding a weapon? A switch-blade?
I move to the left – he to the right.

“Are you hungry? There is a warm dinner roll in my doggie bag. I had one of these for lunch; delicious. I think you’ll enjoy it.” I raised the offering; no response.

I deke to the right and quickly left. Had I been wearing a weathered, fifty year-old, hand tailored, poorly fitting suit I might have thought for a moment that I was dancing at a street corner, practicing moves before a mirror.

Mulling momentarily: “How much to cross the street?”

“Fifty Cents”: I offer a dollar; his left hand withdraws from the left trouser pocket and places two quarters into my open palm.
The disheveled entrepreneur steps to his left.
The light turns green.

(Most who have read this describe when requested to do so, the businessman as the man with the expensive watch. In fact, the business man is the fellow in the tattered suit, the beggar being the one who asks permission to cross the city street.)

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