LISA
intelligent, independent, socially conscious
speaks out against sexism and gender inequality
criticizes the lack of opportunities for women and girls,
values education, critical thinking, and personal growth
concerned with the environment, animal rights,
forward-thinking, progressive mindset, not confined
to traditional female roles.
She didn't get it from Marge though she tried jobs,
education, and interests outside homemaking.
She even ran for public office, pursued business ventures,
and stands up to Homer at times.
Mona broke free from societal expectations back when,
so perhaps it is in the Simpsons genes after all.
Katie Milburn
BOY, I SAY BOY!
Chancellor Sanders, Provost Perdue,
eminent faculty and imminent graduates of Chicken Tech,
today is your day. Ol' Leghorn won't
castigate you for not paying attention
and I won't be paddling poor Barnyard Dawg.
Unwind your expectations of hearing
"I say, I say, boy" -- it's not going to happen.
As an alum, I'm here to support
your proud moment with a word to the wise.
I'm proud of strutting down the Champs-Élysées
once we Doughboys whooped those Nazis —
not the decades of playing the overbearing
buffoon, still bumping around your parents' memories.
That's another storyboard, the one where your grandmothers
fill their kids with Frosted Flakes and Nesquik,
sugar-charging the absurdly happy violence of Merrie Melodies.
My booming baritone and down-home banter
may have made them come back for more,
but I'm not proud of crooning Foster's Doo Dahh lines
of racist minstrelsy that those fascists at Loony Tunes
scripted this rooster to hum between gratuitous beatdowns.
Take note, roosters and hens:
take care whose direction you take.
Even these bloviators on the roost
behind me here at Chicken Tech.
Direction from egoists will
trip up your fortunate future,
when fate and chance are
singing in the same key
all the live-long day.
Rob Friedman
BETTY AND VERONICA
My childhood neighbor, Joyce, loved Archie Comics and fully embraced the love triangle with Archie Andrews.
I was not a fan of comics or cartoons on paper or screens, but Joyce would ask me if I thought I was more
like Betty or Veronica. She wasn't asking about archetypes.That triangle was not equilateral.
Betty Cooper, the "girl next door," was blonde, wholesome, kind, and nurturing. A perfect" girlfriend.
Veronica Lodge was the "rich, spoiled girl," usually materialistic, vain, competitive, confident, and assertive.
Even their surnames - a working-class cooper and a rich family's mountaintop lodge - suggested their roles.
I didn't know about stereotypes or feminism but it was obvious that they were defined by their relationships
with Archie. Recently,I picked up a newer iteration of that triangle and I've seen a few episodes of the TV series Riverdale, and Betty and Veronica have more depth, agency and pursue their own ambitions:
Good for them, though considering they were born in 1941 and are 83 years old this year,it's overdue.
Betty's dreams of becoming a journalist, and Veronica as a savvy businesswoman controlling her family’s empire,
should have happened when they were in their thirties. That timing would have worked in my timeline..
I read B and V as friends but their rivalry for male attention never made sense to me. Though sisterhood
was also not in my vocabulary, and their slim, tall, drawn-by-a-man bodies were something that seemed
impossible, Joyce and I both wanted to look like that. Unrealistic body image standards? Not at age nine.
When Joyce (later to become Joy) asked that question to me, my answer was "Neither. I'm Midge."
Midge with her Klump of a last name is sweet and loyal, though I wanted her to dump jealous Moose,
a dumb jock. But Moose protected her and there was no triangle there and I wanted that for myself too.
Pamela Milne
ROAD RUNNER OFF THE RECORD
You may have got me wrong.
Running for my life? Only in a human
psychoanalytic sense which I reject,
being avian although my wings
are mostly in my feet. I love to run!
To dart & feint, a fencer without epee.
My sword is a long beak meant
to impale snakes and lizards. I love to run!
To be disembodied wind across
the sands of time, our blooming desert.
Wind is will as will is wind, timeless,
more ancient than life itself. Wile E.
Coyote is just my foil. I’m rather
fond of him and wish him well. Sheep
will feed him, lamb on the hoof
much juicier than my desiccated self.
I travel light of bone and feather,
powered by wind of the will.
Taylor Graham
IN THE PINK
Pink Panther was feeling low.
He’d spent yet another week
searching every Jewellers
for his namesake diamond,
not the one with the flaw,
but the one he deserved,
the one that sparkled
in pink perfection.
Most Jewellers had recoiled in fear
at his rather unusual appearance
whatever disguise he adopted
and he’d tried a few.
And then he had an idea!
A gender bend was in order!
A female would surely be welcome!
And so some time was spent shopping
for wigs
and heels,
short skirts
and sexy shades.
And of course, all were pink
Now she’s on her way to Japan,
where she’s been told that
that there are diamonds
radiating pink in Hiroshima.
It’s a long way to go for a panther
but a pink diamond would be her best friend
forever.
Lynn White
WILE. E. COYOTE
Wile E. Coyote was my guardian
angel. Stayed his hand. “Look, the
tunnel thing was just a joke.”
He showed me his Mensa
card. IQ 150. I was18; he, 29.
“Oh, wow!” I was impressed.
Drive the VW bus without
the fan. Ambient breeze will
cool it. He tried it.
The 8 by 10 plywood was
heavy. No need to tie it down
on the roof. He tried it.
=
Step out of a moving car.
Watch it go down the road
without him. Never tried.
Communism is good. “Sometimes
you have to force people to do
what’s good for them.” Like rape.
[He never painted a tunnel
on the side of a mountain.
I would have found out.]
Martha Ellen
THE WORLD ACCORDING TO WILE E. COYOTE
Roadrunners, also
known as chaparral birds
or chaparral cocks
are a species of fast-running
ground cuckoos. Crazy
I am not. We all have
our hungers, our
obsessions, our implacable
compulsions. Anvils
don’t fall out of the sky
onto people’s heads
only in the cartoons. Think
of the shapes of thunderheads
before a storm, your own
fugitive childhood. Funny
how you never saw it
coming. Out of left field: the ax,
the cancer, the accident,
adulterous affair, runaway train, falling
piano. Nobody thinks
things fall out of the sky
onto people’s heads
in real life. Until they do.
Until they do.
Paul Hostovsky
MISTER TOM
"Thomas! THOMAS!"
Oh, what the hell does she want now?
It won't be important, anyhow!
I'm hot on the trail of that tricky mouse,
Who sets traps for me all over the house...
I don't hate meeces to pieces!
That was some other feline dude,
Whose laugh was sneering,
Whose manners were crude.
Me? I stay in the game but never win,
And relish my drawn-in evil grin...
I don't feed upon the grapes of wrath,
I'm a complex sort of psychopath!
My siblings all drowned when I was young,
Drowned before their song was sung
- A mushroom cloud of desolation-
So, violence became my consolation,
A manifestation of deep frustration.
My need for love is a constant fight,
Morning. Noon and night
I didn't get any counseling!
Where Jerry is, I wanna be
He's the yang to my ying,
You must surely see,
He's the other side of me!
He waters my destructive seed,
The pain he inflicts is what I need!
Constant violence is what I call Home,
So, welcome to my Pleasure Dome!
That's all folks!
John Botterill
SUPER LUCY
Charlie Brown is a blockhead
But he’s my blockhead
I’ve seen him kick a football
It is not pretty
In fact, it’s downright ugly
Practice, my 3-dimensional friends
Does not always make perfect
In Charlie’s case,
It’s quite the opposite
I just want to spare him the humiliation
better to be thought a fool
Even a blockhead than a failure
That’s what my dad always says
Charlie has such a trusting nature -I love that about him
He’s kind and patient and loyal
Even with that whiny kid sister, my know-it-all kid brother
And that dumb beagle of his
He truly believes the next time things will be different
That I will not pull that football away from him
And that he’ll actually make contact with it –
He’s got a better chance of seeing the Great Pumpkin
Speaking of the not so great- and self-absorbed
Schroeder … I’m just trying to get Charlie’s attention
If Schroeder likes me maybe he will too
Maybe he’ll see there’s something in Lucy Van Pelt to like
Dad says no one likes a sassy little girl- maybe he’s right
Sally likes Linus; Peppermint Patty likes Charlie
That little yellow bird is always flapping around that dumb beagle
And worst of all - Charlie likes some rando little red-haired girl
It’s not easy having a sweetly insecure smart sap of a kid brother
Mom says work with what you’ve got – that I’m just like my granny Van Pelt
A good heart smothered by a flaming temper
All wrapped inside a permanent scowl tempered by plenty of sass
At my psychiatric booth I learned about Charlie and all that fear
Pulling that football away each time removes the unknown
Nothing to fear, no possibility of failure; same outcome every time
You see? I’m the bad guy so Charlie isn’t the sad guy
Dad always says if you can’t do something right don’t do it at all
So, I swipe that ball every time- It’s the one thing I know I’m doing right
Better mad than scared; better mad than sad
Charlie is no football star but he’s my hero- and I like to think I’m his
Terri J. Guttilla
FOR THE LOVE OF LUCY
I know what you’re all thinking
That kid, Charlie Brown, is SO pathetic
He gets suckered in by Lucy every time
She tees up his football, then snatches it away
He winds up, butt first, on the ground
Each new round, she cons him into thinking
This time will be different, this time
She’ll keep her promise, keep her finger
On the ball — he expects it to be different
When it’s bound to be the same — how lame
What my artist doesn’t tell you, in the comics
That he draws, is, like many of you readers,
We cartoon characters have flaws
For all of her bravado, Lucy suffers from low self-esteem
And, though I try to hide it, I’m a little “O.C.D.”
So, what first appears as cruelty, inflicted on a dunce
Is a form of therapy — that’s good for both of us
She gets to feel powerful and like she’s in control
I get to be compulsive, by acting like a fool
This reduces our anxiety, and that part’s really kool
I may only be a drawing, not made of flesh and blood
But my character has feelings — needs to love and to be loved
For all her taunts and mischief, Lucy cares for me
We lookout for each other - we’re not enemies
That Little Red Head’s just a crush — Lucy’s who I love
Frank Kelly
WILE E. COYOTE DEFENDS HIS REPUTATION
What’s the matter with these guys
Who draw cartoons? They’ve got it all backward.
Road runners are the original bird-brains
And the top of the list on the road-kill census.
They think sprinting down the center line is fun,
So they’re the ones who get squashed.
And if they don’t go splat on the asphalt,
They get distracted and bump into a boulder
Or step on a rattlesnake because
A road runner just can’t pay attention.
That’s why they fall off cliffs into the Grand Canyon
And bite the dust because they forgot they have wings.
None of that ever happens to a Coyote.
Coyotes have class. And please, don’t confuse us
With wolves, those alpha egos who bully every member
Of their own pack below them on the priority chain.
We don’t howl at the moon and make everything about
Ourselves. And we don’t invade our neighbors’ space
And eat those sweet little lambs—
Unless starvation gets the better of us.
We savor our solitude. And we don’t suffer from
Food greed like those gluttonous wolves.
No road runners for us. I’d rather eat a mouse or two
Or a vole. Maybe a lizard or a beetle if times are tough.
Sure, we’ll eat a cantaloupe
If it falls off a truck, but we won’t cross the highway
To retrieve one. Coyotes know how fast those eighteen
Wheelers can roll. I hear these illustrated cartoons
Making fun of coyotes are supposed to make humans laugh.
What’s funny about turning the dumbest animal
In the desert into a hero with a clueless pack of followers
Who think he’s brilliant? Humans should stick to watching the news.
Oh, wait. Human news is backward and upside down,
Just like their cartoons. The only thing those humans got right
About me was my name, though they spelled it wrong.
I’m Wiley all right. Wiley enough to rise before dawn
While the rabbits are still drowsy and smart enough to stay
Far away from the human race.
Rose Anna Higashi
LUANN
I’m still portrayed as a teenager
(though I grew up long ago), as a ditz,
an airhead, a blond bimbo,
but someone with a good heart.
Actually I’m quite successful, run
my own immigrant resettlement
organization, raise money from admiring
millionaires, keep one or two on a string.
You’d think I’d get some respect,
some recognition, but I signed those
NDAs’s so I’m stuck, a nameless do-gooder,
trying to make a difference out here.
I don’t think there are any teenagers like
the one I was portrayed as, particularly
now, those zombies always on their phones
screaming like banshees at concerts.
So I guess it’s OK remaining always a
teenager in a strip for old folks (I’ve never
seen a teen reading a newspaper), letting
them think life’s still good, still steady.
But sometimes I want to stop people on
the street and tell them, yell at them,
that the world is falling apart, that time
is not on our side, that we’re all falling down.
Yet I still think of Bernice, now a lawyer
(can you believe it?), working for social
justice, fighting the good fight, trying to
make the world a better place, so maybe?
I’ve never been good at figuring out the future,
so I guess I’ll drift along, as I did in the comics;
who knows, maybe I’ll get married, settle down
raise a bunch of kids.
Robert Miller
