Calendar Caliente or Chili Doggerel

Pins 'n' needles! Eyes 'n' hooks!

Chill January's hues seem slates,

a grey-grim play of sleet. She looks

a climate prime for skis 'n' skates.

This chili pepper celebrates

by donning earmuffs, scarf 'n' gloves

to undertake not guff he hates

but thin-ice skating -- stuff he loves.

Pins 'n' needles! Hooks 'n' eyes!

Fleet February's twenty eight, 

in falling three days short, supplies

less shot to venerate one's mate.

This chili pepper's running late

delivering his valentine.

He must (and soon!) accelerate:

"Get goin'!" That's his bottom line.

Hooks 'n' eyes 'n' nuts 'n' bolts!

Mid-March's Ides can’t hide Spring's flowers.

Lads in love, cavorting colts,

big blossoms cop from blooming bowers.

Thefts like theirs take sev'ral hours,

maybe less. (No more than two.) 

This chili's savoir faire ne'er sours:

just hear him blurt, "These buds? For you!"

Hooks 'n' eyes 'n' bolts 'n' nuts!

Escape an April's Easter eggs?

Nope! Basket fill’d, this chili struts,

sashaying on his own two pegs.

"May I make mucho more?" he begs. 

"The ankle biters love 'em so,

nor's FDA releasing regs

suppressing eggs. Say I, ‘Let's go!’"

Bolts 'n' nuts 'n' forks 'n' spoons! 

Which gifting day in May's the worst?

De Mayo Cinco France impugns;

preferring May Day -- that's the first.

"The best," rants William Randolph Hearst, 

"is World Press Freedom Day -- the third." 

(This chili, Mom's gifts undispers’d,

orates. He prates, "They're all absurd!")

Bolts 'n' nuts 'n' spoons 'n' forks!

In June, platoons of grads 'n' dads

(though tagg’d by family “dweebs” 'n' “dorks”) 

get gifts -- designer ties in plaids.

This chili'd rather troll for shads.

With six-packs in his tackle box,

he trawls among the lily pads.

(His catches cache shad roes, shad lox.) 

Spoons 'n' forks 'n' Spocks 'n' Kirks!

Jejune July's supremacists

malign, ‘mid flags ‘n’ fireworks,

more recent settlers in their midsts.

This chili simply coexists.

Like Pete 'n' Woody belts out he

(in dissing these recidivists),

"...this land was made for you and mee-e-e-e!"

Spoons 'n' forks 'n' Kirks 'n' Spocks!

The puns of August beam their rays
on circus clowns in pleated frocks
who juggle balls come circus days.
But do not think these chilis gays,

their frocks 'n' fright wigs notwithstanding --
though most do play cabarets

where juggling junk is most demanding.

Kirks 'n' Spocks 'n' things 'n' wings!

September signals: “Back to school!”

This chili in his backpack brings

an Apple XR iPhone. (Cool!)

But there are jealous chilis who’ll

report this to his home-room teacher.

She’ll impound the phone (that ghoul!).

'Tis worse than pointless to beseech her.

Kirks 'n' Spocks 'n' wings 'n' things!

October’s ears will hear, “Surprise!”

‘cuz bombshells each election brings

most napping polsters traumatize.

Does such hold true for all those guys?

Nope! Some Autumnals do quite well.

This chili? “Tricks or treats,” he cries

from deep inside his pumpkin shell.  

Wings 'n' things 'n' needles 'n' pins!

Bees, bears 'n' bats -- all beasts who snooze --

begin to don November skins

(in lieu of hitting Veracruz).

This chili, though, dons buckle shoes

(his hat 'n' belt sport buckles, too)

and goes in search of turkeys, whose

pluck’d carcasses he’ll barbecue.

Wings 'n' things 'n' pins 'n' needles!

Come December’s holiday

unless you’re Dum or Dee (those Tweedles),

soon you'll winterize your sleigh

and, not unlike this chili, say,

“Before I and my deer take flight,

and give this sack of toys away,

keep Xmas all! And so: goodnight!”