My sons have their own moccasins.
I’m troubled by my inability
To reconcile their lives with my own.
Probably their mother’s influence.
They are far more empathetic,
Less likely to discard
Opinions that are not in complete
Sympathy with their own.
None has a life plan,
Which is wise
Considering how suddenly today’s events
Depart from yesterday’s prognoses.
Most often the boys seem rational,
But, reluctant to accept or retain
An argument that relies on attachment
In lieu of evidence.
I hope they won’t carry reason too far.
It blocks the vision of choices
That might include the bizarre,
Where often a better, if dangerous, future might lie.
Monday, June 25, 2012
A Very Bad Dream
A thousand voices
Screamed their outrage,
But I could not understand the message.
Something to do with “debt”.
I thought of large, angry predators,
Tigers defending their cubs
Against a still invisible machine,
Whose engine roar overwhelmed all.
Yet the cacophony seemed self directed,
As though those myriad voices
Were demanding they sacrifice
Their lives to liberate their anger.
Occasionally one voice rose
To rally the throng, offering a solution
To the maddened assemblage,
One that demanded obeisance to the devil.
The crowd would cheer,
Then retreat to mumble in uncertainty
As to the proposition’s efficacy,
Before reverting to an incoherent chant.
In an awakening state
I realized the crowd’s message:
They wanted more!
But first they demanded a victim.
Screamed their outrage,
But I could not understand the message.
Something to do with “debt”.
I thought of large, angry predators,
Tigers defending their cubs
Against a still invisible machine,
Whose engine roar overwhelmed all.
Yet the cacophony seemed self directed,
As though those myriad voices
Were demanding they sacrifice
Their lives to liberate their anger.
Occasionally one voice rose
To rally the throng, offering a solution
To the maddened assemblage,
One that demanded obeisance to the devil.
The crowd would cheer,
Then retreat to mumble in uncertainty
As to the proposition’s efficacy,
Before reverting to an incoherent chant.
In an awakening state
I realized the crowd’s message:
They wanted more!
But first they demanded a victim.
Reflections on the 4th
Viewing stands are being removed,
And cleaning crews are recovering sidewalks
That hours ago were strewn with evidence
Of yesterday’s revelry.
Unlike less prosperous towns across this land,
There is something insanely retro,
A quality reminiscent of a 1955 movie,
That suggests a surreal security bubble envelopes the village.
Visitors tripled Coronado’s population for a day,
And left with a picture postcard’s image
That freezes parks, walks, beach, and ice cream
Into a fairyland populated by happy, healthy Americans.
If there is a different truth,
One that allows for uncut lawns,
It will be overwhelmed by flags and marching bands
And not be noticed.
My instinct
To uncover things small and mean
And satisfy a cynical compulsion
Will observe a day’s rest and enjoy the fiction.
And cleaning crews are recovering sidewalks
That hours ago were strewn with evidence
Of yesterday’s revelry.
Unlike less prosperous towns across this land,
There is something insanely retro,
A quality reminiscent of a 1955 movie,
That suggests a surreal security bubble envelopes the village.
Visitors tripled Coronado’s population for a day,
And left with a picture postcard’s image
That freezes parks, walks, beach, and ice cream
Into a fairyland populated by happy, healthy Americans.
If there is a different truth,
One that allows for uncut lawns,
It will be overwhelmed by flags and marching bands
And not be noticed.
My instinct
To uncover things small and mean
And satisfy a cynical compulsion
Will observe a day’s rest and enjoy the fiction.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
The Patriot
If defending the rich
From their share of the cost,
A cost they imposed
Upon all save themselves,
Defines your patriotism;
If accusing the poor for lack of effort,
While tying their legs in chains
And demanding they pay
For your arrogance;
If science and reason
Are usurped by avarice and superstition,
So that intolerance, ignorance and greed
Are the totems of your nationalism-
I shall not join your cause!
From their share of the cost,
A cost they imposed
Upon all save themselves,
Defines your patriotism;
If accusing the poor for lack of effort,
While tying their legs in chains
And demanding they pay
For your arrogance;
If science and reason
Are usurped by avarice and superstition,
So that intolerance, ignorance and greed
Are the totems of your nationalism-
I shall not join your cause!
Wild West
Wild West 8/20/11
Man wants parole.
It’s been six years
Since he chased my daughter upstairs,
And tried to smash the bathroom door down.
Man/boy pushed past my wife,
Before I ordered him to stop.
He fired a shot, I returned fire
Neither of us hitting more than a wall.
When he heard the siren
He tossed his gun over the railing.
It is six years since that day
When I learned my daughter was in trouble.
She’s clean now,
At least that’s what,
All the drug tests show.
I work at not trusting her.
Daughter, wife and I
Agreed to not oppose the parole.
He was only seventeen at the time
And his prison record is good.
One of the conditions of his release:
He must not come within one thousand feet
Of our home.
It’s a risk we may regret.
None of us is religious,
But we all share the guilt.
How could she have hooked up with that sick kid?
Where was I when my daughter was screwing up?
Man wants parole.
It’s been six years
Since he chased my daughter upstairs,
And tried to smash the bathroom door down.
Man/boy pushed past my wife,
Before I ordered him to stop.
He fired a shot, I returned fire
Neither of us hitting more than a wall.
When he heard the siren
He tossed his gun over the railing.
It is six years since that day
When I learned my daughter was in trouble.
She’s clean now,
At least that’s what,
All the drug tests show.
I work at not trusting her.
Daughter, wife and I
Agreed to not oppose the parole.
He was only seventeen at the time
And his prison record is good.
One of the conditions of his release:
He must not come within one thousand feet
Of our home.
It’s a risk we may regret.
None of us is religious,
But we all share the guilt.
How could she have hooked up with that sick kid?
Where was I when my daughter was screwing up?
Standing
There is nothing wrong with standing on a bus.
I convinced myself the pleasant
Looking woman with one hand
Securing her six year old Micala was fine.
Fine.
Sure the bus swayed a little,
Especially when rounding corners,
But mom and the bright eyed youngster were OK.
OK.
It must have been a typical bus ride for her.
Occasional bumps were part of the trip.
She probably liked it.
I had offered them my seat.
A perfunctory offer
Saying “I notice you”,
But you don’t really want my seat! Right?
It was the image of Micala
Being dragged by her falling mom
As the bus turned severely
That disturbed my indifference.
Micala, mom and I
Exited the bus safely.
Next time, next time
I will do better.
I convinced myself the pleasant
Looking woman with one hand
Securing her six year old Micala was fine.
Fine.
Sure the bus swayed a little,
Especially when rounding corners,
But mom and the bright eyed youngster were OK.
OK.
It must have been a typical bus ride for her.
Occasional bumps were part of the trip.
She probably liked it.
I had offered them my seat.
A perfunctory offer
Saying “I notice you”,
But you don’t really want my seat! Right?
It was the image of Micala
Being dragged by her falling mom
As the bus turned severely
That disturbed my indifference.
Micala, mom and I
Exited the bus safely.
Next time, next time
I will do better.
The Nut in the Next Seat
I like baseball.
I don’t care to pay $4.00 for a small bottle of water,
But watching the action works for me
Unless I have a psychopath in the next seat.
We are two minutes into the game
And my neighbor is grumbling.
He is distraught-
Something to do with the second-baseman.
This nut case, his name is Jake, pleads
For the fielder to move left.
I’m not sure I understand his reasoning,
But it’s impossible not to recognize his earnestness.
Fortunately the visiting team did not score that inning.
In the third, Jake had some advice for the home team:
With runners at first and third, and one out
It’s time for a delayed double steal.
Our batter hits the first pitch into
An inning-ending double play.
Jake looks at me grief-stricken.
It seems our manager was a ”#$*@ dunderhead”.
A close play at first.
Visitor’s batter is ruled safe.
Jake was ready to charge the field
And offers the umpire his glasses “for the visually impaired”.
Seven innings into the game and I’m a nervous wreck.
Twice Jake has called upon God to intervene.
He has loudly begged our third baseman to move in and the center fielder to move back.
Jake now has laryngitis .
Padres are down 3 to 2 in the bottom of the ninth,
Runner on second, one out.
Relief pitcher throws a wild pitch
And the runner on second hesitates.
Jake is standing on his seat,
Cursing up a storm, in a whisper,
And apologizing with each curse.
“Run, god-dammit run! Sorry”.
I really think the man on second heard Jake
And decided, belatedly, to try for third.
Too late, he doesn’t make it.
Jake looks ripe for a coronary.
He’s in tears.
Why had the stupid son-of-a bitch waited?
Why was he, Jake, destined to route for losers?
“There was no God”, he mouthed!
Seeing our last batter strike out, fearing Jake might strangle himself,
I quietly leave my seat.
Hours later at home, I imagine that Jake is still at the ballpark,
Desperately trying to pull down a roof support beam.
I don’t care to pay $4.00 for a small bottle of water,
But watching the action works for me
Unless I have a psychopath in the next seat.
We are two minutes into the game
And my neighbor is grumbling.
He is distraught-
Something to do with the second-baseman.
This nut case, his name is Jake, pleads
For the fielder to move left.
I’m not sure I understand his reasoning,
But it’s impossible not to recognize his earnestness.
Fortunately the visiting team did not score that inning.
In the third, Jake had some advice for the home team:
With runners at first and third, and one out
It’s time for a delayed double steal.
Our batter hits the first pitch into
An inning-ending double play.
Jake looks at me grief-stricken.
It seems our manager was a ”#$*@ dunderhead”.
A close play at first.
Visitor’s batter is ruled safe.
Jake was ready to charge the field
And offers the umpire his glasses “for the visually impaired”.
Seven innings into the game and I’m a nervous wreck.
Twice Jake has called upon God to intervene.
He has loudly begged our third baseman to move in and the center fielder to move back.
Jake now has laryngitis .
Padres are down 3 to 2 in the bottom of the ninth,
Runner on second, one out.
Relief pitcher throws a wild pitch
And the runner on second hesitates.
Jake is standing on his seat,
Cursing up a storm, in a whisper,
And apologizing with each curse.
“Run, god-dammit run! Sorry”.
I really think the man on second heard Jake
And decided, belatedly, to try for third.
Too late, he doesn’t make it.
Jake looks ripe for a coronary.
He’s in tears.
Why had the stupid son-of-a bitch waited?
Why was he, Jake, destined to route for losers?
“There was no God”, he mouthed!
Seeing our last batter strike out, fearing Jake might strangle himself,
I quietly leave my seat.
Hours later at home, I imagine that Jake is still at the ballpark,
Desperately trying to pull down a roof support beam.
Young and Beautiful
I will not go there!
Even if I could afford it,
My mother’s spirit would rise
And strike me dead.
Tiffany already suffers from one disability:
She is pedigree, a Poodle.
It’s not her fault.
But, as a dog lover, I don’t like pedigrees.
Tiffany and Rose, our mutt,
Play with apparent indifference
To Rose’s lack of genealogical distinction.
Today Tiffany was different.
Her owner who “loves” the dog,
Noticed that with age Tiffany,
Had developed loose skin under her chin
And on her butt.
There was nothing for it
But to consider surgery.
We are talking Plastic Surgery
To remove unsightly droop.
This healthy eleven year old canine
Was anesthetized and subjected
To hours of cutting and stitching,
Followed by weeks of painkillers and a lampshade.
This form of torture will add not one minute
Of pleasure or comfort to Tiffany’s life.
Human guests will not notice the change,
Nor will other dogs stare wide-eyed at the transformation.
Generously, we might say,
Good for the owner, good for the dog.
Cynically, we might imagine
A view that all things must be young and beautiful.
Even if I could afford it,
My mother’s spirit would rise
And strike me dead.
Tiffany already suffers from one disability:
She is pedigree, a Poodle.
It’s not her fault.
But, as a dog lover, I don’t like pedigrees.
Tiffany and Rose, our mutt,
Play with apparent indifference
To Rose’s lack of genealogical distinction.
Today Tiffany was different.
Her owner who “loves” the dog,
Noticed that with age Tiffany,
Had developed loose skin under her chin
And on her butt.
There was nothing for it
But to consider surgery.
We are talking Plastic Surgery
To remove unsightly droop.
This healthy eleven year old canine
Was anesthetized and subjected
To hours of cutting and stitching,
Followed by weeks of painkillers and a lampshade.
This form of torture will add not one minute
Of pleasure or comfort to Tiffany’s life.
Human guests will not notice the change,
Nor will other dogs stare wide-eyed at the transformation.
Generously, we might say,
Good for the owner, good for the dog.
Cynically, we might imagine
A view that all things must be young and beautiful.
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