I’ll Make Room

Car lengths are crucial.

Any Brooklyn driver, if patient,

Can explain that time is relative,

Especially when visiting a boring aunt.

I learned from my father that

Ours was a tradition of slightly loony,

Getting ahead drivers:

If there was an opening ... go for it!

Sadly, it didn’t stop there.

Being in the passing lane,

When but a few feet from your exit,

Meant executing a fantastically elegant maneuver. 

Of course you could have transferred

Into the turning lane well in advance 

Of your need to,

But that might have cost you eight or nine car lengths.

No self-respecting Brooklyn driver

Would do more than laugh at that choice:

This was the orgasmic moment,

The time you showed your neighborhood proud.

Slowing down to sixty-five in the thirty mile an hour zone,

And seeing the slower traffic in the right hand lane crawling,

With barely inches between vehicles,

It was necessary to carve a tiny space.

Waiting for just the right moment, 

Knowing that the exit lane would

Disappear behind you momentarily,

Now, now it was essential to get your nose in place.

Sure, the car now being forced to brake 

As you claimed occupancy of that exquisite spot

Was going to blast you with horns and curses,

Without which you could not claim victory.

Leaving

Sold my house.

Not the first time I’ll have picked up

And found another home.

It’s life seasons that push me.

Now it’s wise to be near medical services.

Just the practical thing to do.

Listen to me!

I’ve never done a practical thing in my life... before.

I remember calling Jerry to postpone a tennis match

Because I was going to Mexico to get remarried.

He suggested I take a later flight. 

That boy is a hopeless romantic.

Years, and wives, past and as I prepared

For a job interview near Atlanta.

I spend  hours discussing with Jerry being cool,

Holding out for more money, no need to rush.

Three days latter I had bought a house,

In this town near Atlanta.

Not a bad community,

Except for a local retailer who sold KKK robes.

I’ve lived all over the country,

Made a decent living.

Been married to Marilyn for 15 years and 

Had a hitch trailer until last spring.

Looking forward to my upcoming move.

We’ll be back on the West coast.

Seems that’s been my destination

Every time I’ve lived elsewhere.

I’ll be near one of my daughters,

Not far from San Francisco,

In easy reach of several friends

And close to medical services.

Love Story

She much older

He dying of cancer.

Both families scorned them.

When Man Was Taller

Before civilization

People held beliefs that seemed reasonable.

Something caused the sun to rise, trees to grow,

And to everything there was a first.

We have been traveling downhill

Since first we accepted plants as our 

Choice for sustenance.

Hunting was too dangerous and problematic.

Gods were promoted or demoted,

Depending on our needs.

Strength was less critical 

Than agrarian knowledge.

What would kill and what would cure?

Seasons for planting replaced 

Hunting and cooking,

And we grew puny.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with puny.

Throwing rocks at your enemy

Was replaced by spears and arrows

And finally guns. Puny’s can handle guns.

Problem is that we have a self image

That assumes our ancient ancestors

Were short and tough.

Turns out they were tall and spiritual.

We didn’t decide to be vegetarians:

We needed a place to celebrate the spirits.

We had to be stationary to build pillars to the gods.

And that’s why we settled for mushrooms over steak.

Christmas

Pablo, in his Chef’s jacket, had taken pictures

Of the food presentation, the table fully set

And the people gathered for the feast. 

It needed only a pontifical blessing.

No prayer was offered

As the host held strong opinions on the subject.

The opulence of the scene

Would not have comforted St Francis.

If there was a conversation 

That did not cover the mandatory routine topics

It escaped my notice.

Perhaps that was the obligatory blessing.

I’ve done it a thousand thousand times.

Acknowledging luck understates your perspicacity,

And is as effective as knocking on wood.

Tonight all genuflected at Fortune’s door.

Surely as host it fell upon me 

To steer the conversation into

Subjects that might matter to my guests.

Instead I chose to reflect.

In New York by mid-December

We seem to lose our cynical edge.

Something resembling a hesitant smile

Might be found on a passing commuter’s lips.

Southern California offers no equivalent,

But folks here might argue,

They, or is it we, do not understand seasons,

And can’t imagine a mid-December smile.

Step 9

Gene struggled to his end.

Recovery calls for making amends,

And with that in mind he visited.

I did, and do not, remember his offense..

I do remember his sincerity.

Which had less to do with any wrong committed

Than his need to complete this task.

My name was one of twenty on his list.

It mattered little that I did not feel abused.

This was Gene’s journey.

He hoped that his apology would assuage 

Some of the guilt that tormented him.

Did it work?

I  know we had a pleasant visit.

My interest, probably not helpful, was intellectual.

He was slaying windmills, but that was appropriate.

His wife, a non-smoker, had died of lung cancer.

His son was in a drug rehab center.

Gene’s wealth and brilliant career,

Along with his self respect, were ashes.

When he had apologized to those he might

There would remain steps 10 through 12.

His was not a sisyphian task,

And perhaps the journey was the triumph.  

Everyman

They don’t share my reality.

In their eyes.God is a failed conceit 

For me, it is the start of morality,

The abiding basis for a good life.

One of my daughters is a lesbian.

I doubt her acceptance into the hereafter.

She doubts my sanity,

And does not want my opinions.

My older girl blames me for her mother’s death.

I loved Grace and lost my life’s compass

When she died.

I wish I had gone first.

I have suffered mightily since a stroke

Cost me proximate recall.

My sister tells me I repeat myself.

She has no patience for my beliefs--- and me.

Still, life is not without compensations.

My neighbors are helpful

And my church is supportive.

But I do wish my brother would stop by.

A Question of Faith

For this 4th of July morning walk

I wore a blue shirt emblazoned 

“CORONADO DEMOCRATIC CLUB”.

It got mixed reviews.

I offered a good morning greeting

As I passed others,

In this predominately conservative community,

And found many enraged by my T shirt’s message.

That I dared to offer a hello

While wearing the sign of the infidel

Was found insufferable to many.

Fortunately, disdain did not give way to violence.

Not quite a unanimous endorsement 

Of this day’s  message of spiritual acceptance

For all Americans, from all Americans.

It was reminiscent of an earlier time.

Civil rights in the sixties was an unsettled affair.

Fifty years later, hate and divisiveness,

Continue to stalk the land

Like a plague that feeds upon itself.

Have they decided I am an enemy of the state

Rather than a man with an inferior choice?

Yes, my T shirt may offend,

But why salute the morning with enmity?

Surely a responsive smile 

And reciprocal “hello”

Does not suggest you have joined the enemy.

Rather, you have allowed for a day without rancor.

Situational Ethics

From the sidewalk I asked the twelve year old,

Removing his soccer sneakers,

How the game went.

“We won, it was a good game.”

As I continued walking

Noting my ease in stopping folks

Of any age to say “hi”.

Passing the new movie theatre,

On the very friendly main street,

I understood why the town is so conservative.

This place of little rain, comfortable weather,

Clean sidewalks and few crimes

Stands for values. Values that offer protection from

The dangers of street people 

Who stink and dress poorly;

Criminals looking to steal;

Leftists who dismiss law and order government

As a cover for discrimination.

Home ownership is held dear in this community,

And I? Yes, I do enjoy the movies, the safety,

Along with the absence of poor, dirty, smelly people?

Or is my hypocrisy showing?

Do I harbor concerns that clean poor folks

Might invade my town and ruin values,

Especially home prices?

Taking the Pledge

Ever since Grover Norquist

Became the self anointed czar of the Republican Party 

I’ve been faced with a difficult decision:

Should I take the pledge?

Overcoming my predilection to equivocate  

I have, as of this morning, signed on.

My reluctance submerged by the facts.

Loudly, I exclaim, NO MORE CAVITIES.

The sacrifices will be great:

Less chocolates, more brushing,

Increased water picking

And reduced noshing.

Yes, it will be a trial-

Surely matched only by the wealthy 

In their show of courage

When they stand tall in opposing tax increases.

Morally, there is no denying 

The intestinal fortitude required

To turn away from people who naively

Claim greed as their motive.

Poor fools, unable to see

How great is the sacrifice.

Bravely, the rich choose not to give the government more money

Only to be wasted on lesser people. 

Yes, it is true that like those few staunch souls,

I too have stood and taken a pledge.

Chosing not the easy way, artificial incisors,

I march toward dental perfection.