For the past three years my wife’s family has had a tradition.  On Mother’s Day (or this year as near as we could get) her uncle rents us a suite at Comerica Park, complete with buffet of food, many beers and fantastic view of the game, and we go (with our mothers) and overdo the eating and drinking.

I would like to narrate this last weekend trip in a series of haikus.

The Drive

Reststop bathroom break

Postures ruined by driving

Shaped like hieroglyphs

We stayed with my mother-in-law.  The pugs both slept in the bed with us.

The Night

Pugs snoring, farting

Why do the humans end up

Sleeping on the floor?


The Niece

Tiny two-year-old

Fascinated by our dogs

Don’t grow up too fast

A pretty good impersonation of Bea. Bea is not amused.

We also made time to go visit some of our favorite college friends who we just don’t get to see enough, as well as they’re cool little kids.

College Friends

Used to drink Boone’s Farm

Under the bridge in the park


Forgot to take a pic with actual friends.

And then the next day was the big event.  20 or so people.  One suite.  Tons of food and beer.


Lots of rain dampens

But does not spoil the fun times

‘cept his umbrella

Guy blocked a foul ball with his idiotic umbrella.

And then, on Monday, we packed up the car and made the trek back to Chicago.  Wife and I are both in the same book club, and this time our newest member is having us read Memnoch the Devil by Anne Rice, so we listened to half the audio book during the drive.  One of the rules of book club is you can’t discuss the book before book club.  But there’s no rules about writing haikus about the book.

Memnoch the Devil

Steaming pile of shit

Are all vampires so effete?

When’s Tom Cruise turn up?


I could connect all the dots here by mentioning Lestat keeps talking about William Blake’s angels, and one of Blake’s most famous refrains is:

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
And that we went to a Tiger’s game, but I won’t point that out.  I’m not as heavy handed as some writers.
Cough, cough, Anne Rice, cough….

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