Joe Pivetti writing as Joe Spaghetti

Stories by Joe Spaghetti

When is a poodle knot a poodle? By Joe Spaghetti It was a cool afternoon In the middle of June. We were doin’ just fine, When my Mom gave us a line: “Please, Make a dog knot on your poodle To keep him away from my strudel.” The strudel was coolin’, The poodle was droolin’, And my mother was sayin’ That she wouldn’t be stayin’. But the poodle and I… Best be obeyin’. Now as a rule My poodle’s a jewel. But the situation was not. For I had forgot, How to tie the best knot For keepin’ a poodle from boodle. So I consulted a book by a fellow named Ahab, And told my poodle a bit, just a dab, “See dog, the sea dog knows nautical knots.” A slip knot? A square knot? An overhand sheep shank, what? Say pup, if you had a nose for what’s right and what’s not, I wouldn’t be in this picklish spot. I wouldn’t be looking for the right kind of guardian knot. And now, even if I did know, Who’ll watch you pup While I’m searching for string To tie you right up? Oh, you’re such a slippery thing. And here’s another strange thought. What if the rope is livid with rot? Eaten away by sisal bound bugs, The kind that are common in rope and in rugs. What could a boy and woolly dog do? I don’t have a muzzle, Nor an answer to this real knotty puzzle. Whoops! I forgot! When is a poodle Knot a poodle? When the belly of the poodle is guarding the strudel!	My cat is a brat By Joe Spaghetti My cat is a brat. I can’t think of anything meaner than that, But he eats like a hog, And chases the dog; Rides on his neck Like a lion on a zebra, by heck. He helps with the laundry… See he sits in the basket and acts as a sentry, Snagging each sock that he thinks is his own, And bites on your hand when you’ve got the wrong one. Then there are sponges. All over the house. The ones that he munches, And carries around like a mouse. Now my boy has to stand guard over his Legos; The ones, the flowers, the arrows, And the black space hat… The cat especially likes playing with that. Oh, he also throws his toy dog head Five feet in the air! Then lays in ambush To attack our toes as we stand on a stair. And there’s no sleeping past the hour of six. He’ll wake you with one of his tricks Like the “hit the door high jump”, Or the “full speed sideways door bump”. The washroom’s his lair. If we dally he’ll stick his paw under the door, And wave it around to be sure that you know he is there. And you don’t go outside where you can be seen, Because he’ll cry like you’re mean, And climb screen doors ‘til you have learned, That he owns you, and that that is still firm. Yes he’s a brat! But we love him in spite of all that.
Don’t have a cow By Joe Spaghetti Don’t be cowed By a bully or a crowd. Don’t be anxious of a lapse or a lull. Be unconcerned with the lie of the bull. Stay true to your self. Keep honor above everything else. For the world within you, Is what should concern you. As everything else… Happens, with or without you.	Horseradish By Joe Spaghetti I’ve seen horses eat grass And I’ve seen them eat cash; Once a bucket of gravy From a guy in the Navy. But never a radish… So what the heck is horseradish? We eat it on roast, And we eat it on tongue, But we don’t eat it on toast, Or on this pile of horse dung!
Modrian art By Joe Spaghetti There are critics who say That a good piece of Modrian art Is better than a Mona Lisa or two. That’s right, I said two! Because they believe it’s twice as good As anything DaVinci could do. Now you know this art I can tell Because as school children We drew it quite well, But at that time We knew it as Tic-Tac-Toe And filled it with X’s and O’s!	Giraffe on my staff By Joe Spaghetti I said to my fellow explorer, Named Rufius Grover, “If I had a giraffe on my staff He could see over the hills and the tall trees, Right past the forest and out to the sea. We could forget about compasses, maps, and tree climbers. Say, what could be finer?” “Oh no,” corrected my chief scout R. Grover, “I doubt he would lead us to civilization, More likely a big stand of tallus leafumdom.” “Okay I said” as I thought, One thing is for sure, If I replaced my lead scout, With a giraffenous heard, I finally could get out With the very last word!
L’elephante By Joe Spaghetti L’elephante de Californie Est plus belle de l’elephante de Paris, Parce que il est plus gris And it doesn’t have fleas.	The year of the rat By Joe Spaghetti Hickory, dickory, dock, The mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one. And look! I got another one!
Funny Bunnies By Joe Spaghetti “Hi, I’m Mr. Funny Bunny.” “And I’m Mrs. Funny Bunny.” “We’re the funny bunnies.” “We like to wiggle are noses.” “That is true, and so is “That we like to hop a lot!”	Sealed with a seal By Joe Spaghetti I like to seal my letters With a seal that is better Than Easter or wax. It’s the seal of a seal that is max. It’s a system divine For secrets of mine. By putting a seal of a seal On the lip of a letter, No one can open my secrets such that I will not know better.
Isle of Knute By Joe Spaghetti Was it raining frogs or snowing lizards? What was the scale of the blizzard? Skink, Gecko or Monitor? Can you guess by the size or by color? My, how a full scale lizard blizzard can leave you so low, Like creeping, crawling and melting goo, And so much lower …than the belly of a leg-less lizard’sflail. You must stay atop of this transitional tail Because this same rain may send you a pile Of newts set to scale. Oh, and by the way, my newt is the easiest to mount (Because he’s minute), And once atop my newt you can count On being able to reach the salamander and squash soup.	A Kit: Fox In A Box By Joe Spaghetti I saw a Kit Fox Sniffin’ a box From a Bake Town garbage bin (It’s a good thing it was down wind). A slight change of stance Prompted a prance (Boy, that little ol’ fox could skitter and dance), And off shot that rare fox “Like a rocket!” With his head still in the box!
Dog Gone By Joe Spaghetti My doggoned dog is gone. His hackles were up And his woofer was woofin’ The last that I knew he was here. It couldn’t be cats, ‘Cause cats are his friends. And it couldn’t be rats, He’s terriered them. But it could be he followed his boy off to scouts. You see, he’s head of the pack at his school (But then again, he’s no good at d’rules).	Present An Ant “Ahemm…quiet please, I would like to present An ant; An ant of great renown; An ant around town; Our president; Our ant; Our answer to matriarchal aberrance; The ant with no pants, Mr. G. I. Army-ant…” [Cheers, applause and pheromone release From the G. I. sycophants] “Thank you, thank you, I am here to take a stance. We must arise, We will show the Queen That we are ants Of circumstance, And ants of dominance!” [The Queen files in and eats G. I. Army-ant]
Somethin’ Squirrely By Joe Spaghetti Hi, we’re Laverne and Shirley. We’re a little squirrely. No ifs, ands or buts. You’re gonna think that we’re nuts …Because our tales are kind of curly.	Polecat Blues By Joe Spaghetti Not a scent to his name This pewer of fame Will high-tail it from here To the front (not the rear) 'Cause little or not his rep is the same Despite all the melons, Pepe's not tame And if moderation should make him turn blue Well then here's hoping (for you) That you enjoy his perfume.
My cat is a brat too By Joe Spaghetti Gatito loco, my cat, Is still a brat And I'm thankful for that. He's gotten a bit older, And a bit bolder. He purrs like a pigeon With his claws in my shoulder (but never a meow, a yowl or a mew because he's a Russian Blue). Now he's developed a condition That requires a dog lap to his muzzle (its okay - its of her own volition). Then he's properly prepared to sit on a crossword puzzle. Followed by a good face rub On a pen clip or nub. Then its to the lap To imitate a Heinlein Flatcat. He sleeps a bit longer And he jumps a bit shorter, Unless he's bristled for string or laser light chasing - That he attacks with conviction, And feline precision. Sometimes he bites..children, repairmen And grandfathers...but...mostly me (amen). Yes...he is still a brat, But man, what a cat!	Flamingos and bingo Flamingos and bingo, And gambling creatures by jingo! At the zoo with my buddy named Rex, We bet on the color that we think we’ll see next. I’ll bet on pink? To get a leg up I think; Even though picking flamingo’s a solitary stance, And spying one’s such A neck twisting dance. I won here before… Because the lagoon is next door!

"One should appreciate the noodle before there is nothing left but soup."
- Solomon Tall (8/8/2015)

more Tall-isms here