Happy April Fool’s Day, or Dia das Mentiras (Day of Lies) in Portugal. In honor of this day of laughter at the expense of others, and in honor of the start of National Poetry Month in the United States, I’m reposting this biennial (or kinda sometimes annual-ish) poetry post I wrote and recorded about my first spring in Portugal — where I arrived exactly three-and-a-half years ago today. There are updates at the end.

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In the spirit of poetry, I’m sharing a few more midlife lessons learned in Portugal as a not-so-smart expat, this time in the form of a cheeky, not-so-good poem. You can read it below, or listen to my first-ever audio recording. Deepest apologies to all true poets.

I've learned a lesson,
Maybe more than two,
Because of the stupid shit,
I have gone through.

First there were symbols,
On my washing machine.
Just dumbass pictures,
I'd never before seen.

I should've done research,
So that I would know,
In which fucking compartment, 
The detergent should go.

But, I decided,
I was way too smart,
To look stuff up,
Before pressing start.

And that's how it went,
For six months and one day,
Until I realized something, 
That blew me away.

The symbol I'd thought,
Was supposed to mean soap,
Was really a flower.
For detergent? Nope!

Yes, that's right,
I'm here to say,
My clothes were washed in plain water,
But rinsed in soap each laundry day.

And then there's spring,
In this sunny foreign land,
With swallows and spiders,
From tiny to muito grande.

Mãe Nature's bird-n-bug combos,
I also have to say,
Can really screw up,
Outdoor laundry-drying day.

From black and white bird poo, 
To red spiders that bite,
Spring's wonders bring stains,
To laundry drying in sunlight.

Now, I try hard to time, 
My clothes-washing days,
To take full advantage, 
Of the sun's hot rays.

But this spring crap has me,
Just singing the blues.
Oh why oh why,
Is there no dryer to use.

But wait, just wait,
Here's a clever thought.
Why not spray the outdoor area 
With the bug killer I bought.

That at least would repel,
All the spiders and flies.
I'd just need to be careful, though,
Not to spray the toxin in my eyes.

So the next laundry day,
That's what I decided to do.
Unfortunately I forgot to do it,
Before the laundry was outside too.

No problem, I got this.
I can spray quite carefully.
I pressed the nozzle and out it shot,
Bug killer on my clothes and me.

And now finally I'll end,
With the high price of gas.
Not the fuel you pump,
Though both leave me aghast.

No, I mean the gas we create,
Those farts that we blow,
More frequently in midlife,
Why, I do not know. 

Oh stinky, stinky farts,
You cost me so much!
Coming at the wrong time,
On dates, in cars, and such.

I went out to dinner,
With a woman friend here.
What the hell was I thinking, 
Ordering that spicy paneer.

For in her small car,
On the hilly ride back,
My gas started making,
Its own silent track.

I clenched and shifted,
Trying hard to be discreet.
Though suppressing gas,
We know is a Herculean feat.

But here's what I learned,
As the gross scent did hover:
Driving through farmland in spring,
Is a fantastic fart cover!

"Oh god, do you smell that?!"
My friend groaned with a start.
I slumped down low in my seat, 
Silently cursing my fart.

"They fertilize with manure here,"
Said my unknowing friend.
Then she closed the car windows,
Which I quickly opened again. 

"That's OK," I said,
Now talking pure shit.
"I love the smell of farms,"
I lied, letting another one rip.

My Portugal expat lessons,
Really, the main two:
Always research symbols,
And pray for cow doo-doo.

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More Spring Smiles

I don’t know about you, but I look for reasons to smile during stressful times. Here’s what had me giggling recently.

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Thank you for reading! ❤️ May your weekend find you laughing at small troubles.

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All images are my own except as noted.

The Hot Goddess

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