Apologize

I am awed by the guy
Who has no failures
In need of expiation,
And enjoys a pristine view of the road behind.

Only one claiming deification
Could hold to such perfection.
Western religions might unite
In stoning his sorry ass.

My own list of misplays,
Lapses and relapses,
Laid end-to-end
Would circle the globe... thrice.

With enough money,
And if technology allows,
I might add a coda to my will,
Broadcast by 100 satellites, “Sorry”.

Of course a universal apology might seem
To lack a certain sensitivity.
Perhaps a message of hope might work?
“You’ll never hear from me again”!

Table of Twelve

Its a joyous holiday,
Marking an occasion
That almost certainly did not happen.
Hence, a religious holiday.

Miracles reported, some reenacted,
Recall downtrodden desperate people,
Saved from an unspeakable fate.
And twelve people enjoy a good meal.

It makes good theatre,
A not altogether unimportant
Contribution to our spirit
And our actions.

Our small group,
Members of an ancient tribe,
Mark the ritual as valuable,
If only as a warm friendly gathering

Sand

Winter storms left their message.
Beaches, trees, houses are gone.
Don’t behave like John McEnroe,
Slamming his racquet
On a defenseless water machine.
The Ocean is tasked
To move in response
To the moon, wind, sun
And other random acts of nature.

To build on the coastal sands
Suggests an arrogance
That has lost sight of limits
Or a stupidity that concludes
The accumulation of millions of grains
In the space between the tree line
And the sea
Is an abnormality, having nothing to do
With the waters way.

When the last footprint
Has been eroded
And no bird hunts for fish
Among the building waves,
Then neither the crashing tumult
Nor the gentle rippling of a timid
Entreaty upon the shore
Will not be witnessed,
Accept by the sand.

Checking the Weather

On a Sunday 30 years ago
Dad called.
It was the first
Of 20 years of Sunday calls.

Exchanges were short,
Mostly we compared weathers.
He never spoke of his deteriorating health,
His long slide.

Never seemingly very personal,
Yet we both thought
These brief, often inane, dialogues
Mattered.

Two ill-equipped men,
Neither comfortable with emotional conversation,
Reached to create unbreakable bonds
Without betraying their imagined selves.

Constancy was the substance,
That, not unlike religion,
Provided nurture
And integrity to our relationship.

I miss the talk we never had,
Where love and happiness
Took center stage.
Now on Sundays I call my children.

The Corporate Person (Written in recognition of the Supreme Courts emergence as a legislative body)

Akhenaten decided the Sun was the supreme God.
Not a very good idea.
Demoted deities, preeminent for 1000 years,
Were not pleased. Bad things happened.

Friday a new species was created.
Some rights, reserved for citizens of the United States,
Were extended to paper entities.
It was not a very good idea.

If democracy is an illusion,
Just out-of-reach,
It has served us well.
Our highest (Supreme) church has removed that fantasy.

Government by the people has
In the best “Animal Farms” tradition,
Been retained.
Only the definition of “people” has been modified.