Felicia Nimue Ackerman is a professor of philosophy at Brown University and has over 250 poems published in places including American Atheist, The American Scholar, Better Than Starbucks, The Boston Globe, The Chronicle of Higher Education, Down in the Dirt, The Emily Dickinson International Society Bulletin, Free Inquiry, Light, Lighten Up Online, The Los Angeles Times, The New York Daily News, The New York Times, The Providence Journal, Scientific American, Sparks of Calliope, Time Magazine, The Wall Street Journal, and Your Daily Poem.
You Are Old, Father William
(First appeared in The Los Angeles Times.)
“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,
“And the money’s become very tight;
And yet you’ll spend anything not to be dead–
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son,
“I figured that old folks should die;
But now that I’m perfectly sure that I’m one,
I do not see a good reason why.”
“You are old,” said the son, “as I mentioned before.
So consider your grandson’s position,
Since the money that keeps you away from death’s door
Could be used for his college tuition.”
“I am old,” Father William replied in a yell,
“But I’ve not taken leave of my wits!
I should croak so young Willie can go to Cornell?
Be off, or I’ll blow you to bits!”
The Fat Ladies Sing
(First appeared in The Los Angeles Times.)
We revel in our candy bars
And cookies, cake, and pie.
That vegetables taste wonderful
Is one humongous lie.
But now we face admonishment.
Our size sets off a fuss.
The war against obesity
Includes a war on us.
We know our girth is plentiful,
But listen to our voice.
When thinking of our corpulence,
Why can’t you be pro-choice?
Spend an Afternoon with Annie
(First appeared in The Providence Journal.)
Annie’s always calm and cheerful,
Speaks no ill of friend or foe,
Always prudent and productive,
Meets temptation with a no.
Never gossips, never grumbles,
Eats fresh fruit instead of cake.
Spend an afternoon with Annie–
See how long you stay awake.
A Narrow Fellow in the Glass
(First appeared in The Emily Dickinson International Society Bulletin.)
A narrow fellow in the glass
Is what I yearn to see–
But much I must forgo, alas
To make a slimmer me.
No cookies, brownies, cake, or pie–
I may become unstrung.
The pleasure healthful foods supply
Is zero at the tongue.
Envying My Cat
(First appeared in The Providence Journal.)
When Lili seeks affection,
She only has to purr.
She never meets rejection.
Why can’t I be like her?
The Galway Review 