A Yankee Peddler

By Dale Theriault

Much like the olde New England peddler of pots and pans, the author peddles thoughts of modern life throughout the land, navigating the poetic electronic highways without benefit of a G.P.S. Yankee Peddler is another chapter culled from the eidetic mind of a Mainer past his prime, but totally unaware of it !

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dale Theriault
• Release date: Oct 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311999245

Dale Theriault

Dale W. Theriault, a native of the State of Maine and retired after a forty-year career in Municipal Parks and Recreation, is providing Maine's Down East humor in several books of poetry. Topics range from politics to love, nature, comedy, philosophy, life, death, and the everyday struggle of America's residents. A graduate of the University of Maine, he was actually educated in the fifty odd years following graduation...irreverent but never irrelevant, he expresses his views on the status of current affairs.

Book preview

When decades pass and passion lasts,

An uncontrollable desire,

And the warmth of love is indeed above,

A smoldering, lingering fire,

One may surmise and it's no surprise,

The initial spark was hot,

The eternal flame remains the same,

A dying ember, not!

Mr. Ed

A man was quietly reading his paper

About a crime wave and the crooks' newest caper,

When his wife sneaks up behind,

And whacks him with a frying pan,

What the hell was that for, he demands,

That's for thinking I'm a fool,

I found a paper in your pocket

With the name, Marylou,

That's a horse I bet on last week past,

As a matter of fact she came in last,

I'm sorry, dear, I should have known,

But she whacked him again,

And she heard him groan,

What was that for, he again did moan,

Your horse just phoned!

How Ya Gonna Keep Em..........

A man owned a small farm in South Carolina,

And always thought life could never be finer,

Until the State's Wage and Hour Department

Sent an agent on a whim, to interview him,

Give me a list of your employees,

And tell me how much you pay,

My hired man's been here three years

And he gets

600 a week,

My cook gets

500 plus room and board,

And a helluva cook is Zeak,

Any one else, asked the agent

As he scribbled on his pad,

Yeah, the farmer said, the guy's not bright,

Works eighteen hours a day,

Gets ten dollars a week

And a weekly chewing wad,

Aha, said the agent, I want to see that man,

Cause he's the one I'm seeking,

Where is he,

Aha, said