Park Your Car

I watched him back the convertible in,
Thinking it’d be way off the curb.
But with a last minute twist,
He managed to park perfectly.

Equidistant to cars fore and aft,
A mere inch from the sidewalk,
He had , I thought, managed a top score.
My coffee cup saluted his “10”.

He stepped to the kiosk.
From my seat,
Adjacent to the coffee machine
I offered my congratulations.

Surprised, but delighted by my assessment,
He blushed to be so honored
By someone assigned to measure
Such feats of driving elegance.

My face betrayed no information,
Since that might allow the fellow
To surmise I was merely humoring him.
My effusive thumbs up was to be taken seriously.

There had been any number of
Potentially catastrophic alternatives.
He couldive hit a car, ended 9 inches off the curb,
Or 3 inches onto the sidewalk.

It’s not everyday someone pitches a perfect game.
Rarely will an errorless dive from the high board
Cut the water with nary a splash,
I feel certain my approbation made his day.

Happens There, Felt Here... Maybe

Do you remember the butterfly
Who, by flapping its wings in San Francisco
Caused the weather to change in New York?
He never existed.

And the weather ?
It changed because the butterfly never existed,
And the effect of the falling coconut
Was not offset by the never existent butterfly.

A recent problem in Greece
Threatened all financial holdings,
In the world where the butterfly exists,
And there went your new mortgage.

We have moved, irretrievably
Beyond apparent events
Into the state of Alice,
Where gravity is suspended.

“Up” and “down” are irrelevant.
Only “now” remains,
And it suffers continual abuse
At the hands of the technology.

The fastest machine moves first
Anticipating all the other machines,
Causing a figurative butterfly
To change the forecasted weather in New York.

It is enough to signal
That the butterfly may exist,
And therefor it will rain in New York,
Thereby increasing the value of an umbrella manufacturer’s business...

But only for an instant.
If the first/fastest machine has created the figurative butterfly
Will it not pounce on those late buyers,
Sell short and gain when the butterfly is found to be missing?
It is not enough to say we are hopelessly interconnected.
Rather, we are slaves to the machine that recognizes
Our imperfect awareness of the tangled web,
And tells us tales that we believe and follow.

Young Man

What will you do?
It is not vouchsafe
That you will not be President,
If you would but lose your Hispanic accent.

When your bike posse moves out,
Helmets in place,
To capture the day,
Do girls enter your dreams?

What are you thinking
Behind that young man’s face
Who adheres to the path
Ascribed by your seniors?

With emancipation a few tomorrows away,
Are you as excited as you seem?
Or are there countervailing wishes
That do not conform?

I’ve not met your potential before,
A prince in waiting
Who may find a road
Less traveled and more rewarding.

Surrounded by love,
In a family that honors
Possibility and promise,
Will you respond in kind?

May your smile reach your heart.
May your falls help you rise.
May you love what you do
And the people you do it with.