You Know Better

There were five of us.

Just enough to congeal

Into a one digit I.Q.

And do something without redeeming social value.

This was a long time before social values.

When I was ten, my Mom 

Would’ve supplied the term “constructive”

As the antonym for our behavior.

We five neighboring apartment dwellers,

Not highly-motivated bums- in-training,

Would play stick ball, using parked cars

As launching pads for heroic, leaping catches.

The adult who owned a new red De-Soto, 

Caught us practicing elaborate snares

Off the trunk of his car.

He was unhappy.

Looking at his “not badly -damaged” car,

He expressed his “disappointment” with our behavior,

Then turned a nasty face on me and spat out,

“You, you know better!!”

It was a very weird moment.

I was handed a sort of compliment

While simultaneously carrying the weight

For my buddies, who apparently did not know better.

65 years later and I’ve reached no conclusion.

Just because I was the runt of the litter

And possessed the best leaping ability,

Is no reason to think I really knew any better.

Connections

Standing in front of my toaster,

I considered how things really work.

How did the mind decide on toast?

Did it store “now start toasting”?

How would a far advanced extraterrestrial ,

Armed with knowledge beyond human understanding,

Respond when confronted by a toaster?

What does it do, how does it work?

This morning I carried my Kindle

Into the kitchen, to read as I made toast.

I pulled a piece of bread

Along with jam and low cal cream cheese.

Opening the toaster,

I set the timer for twenty minutes,

And started to insert the bread,

Before realizing something was amiss.

My black, nine by six, kindle

Was half way into the toaster.

Unacceptable!

Even with very tasty jam.

I thought about the books,

All those words, melting,

Running down the screen.

Would something explode?

My friends, I trust you share

The idea that, like an uninformed alien,

Choosing between the bread and the Kindle

Might reduce itself to the question: How would the jam spread?

Man in a Plaid Shirt

At ten he enters the Gelato store.

As always he asks for a taste.

Today he samples the Disaronno and the Scraetella,

But once again smiles at the Hazelnut.

Thea waits for the head-nod before scooping.

There remains a possibility he will switch.

There is also a chance of snow in July.

Not very likely!

His shirt, heavy wool and long,

Suggests time spent in the Berkshires,

Where it may have offered the comfort

Of past winters before a cosy fireplace.

Sitting on his regular stool facing the window

Where he seems to gain reassurance

From the street scene,

Which remains unchanged from yesterday’s.

Eating his cup of Hazelnut gelato very slowly,

Gaining confidence from his choice of flavor.

There is the suggestion of a smile playing about his mouth.

All’s well, and the day may proceed.

The Long and the Short of It

All those people can’t be wrong...

Unless, of course they are.

Gay marriage draws some very strong objections

There must be some basis in fact.

We are told the men are faggots

And the women are macho.

It has been suggested that such people

Poison the institution of marriage.

What about having children?

Isn’t that the ultimate purpose of marriage?

How about gay impact on the young?

Those sinners could lead children far astray.

Consider a kid who is tall

And compare him to a short child.

Ordinarily the tall one has a larger strike zone,

While the shorty can’t reach as far for the foul ball.

Whether raised by homo or heterosexual parent(s)

Neither their reach nor their strike zone will change,

Nor should we conclude that a gay parent

Is less effective in raising a child, short or tall.

Gay men and lesbians do create children

While many straights do not.

We have gay football players and lesbian homemakers.

Can we not agree that two consenting adults may marry?

We are, I think, reduced to a religious argument:

The bible tells us that homosexual marriage is wrong.

It also tells us that collecting sticks to make a fire,

On the Sabbath, is sinful, and punishable by stoning.

Stoning requires the inclusion of the entire village.

Neither women or children are excused.

All must participate in the murder

So that none can point a moral finger.

Few of us are anxious to join a stoning.

Yet the implacable Bible demands the punishment.

Are we not ready to accept “Do Unto Others” as God’s commandment

And let homosexuals freely choose if, and who,  they will marry?

Robin Hood and the Revolution

Through the distorted lens of the front door spy hole

Jim saw a short fellow in what looked like a costume.

Searching his 50 year old memory, he found the name.

Shorty was wearing a Robin Hood suit and carried a small bag.

Jim opened the door, smiling and ready

To inform the young man it was not Halloween.

Shorty announced that he was indeed Robin Hood,

And pulling a pistol from the bag, stepped into the house.

Two other masked men, not in costumes, entered with him.

Mr.Hood explained that he wanted all the cash.

His companions entered the kitchen

And disconnected the phone.

Before Robin, and his now Merry Men left,

He explained to Jim that the greater good  he was performing, 

Albeit without much choice, would surely

Accrue to Jim’s benefit. If not now, soon.

Years later, after Robin Hood 

Had formed an LLC and created a loan company,

Jim applied for a mortgage... but was turned down.

Opening his home to a masked man in leotards made him a poor risk.

When Will I Know

I’ve exhausted Lincoln’s four score and seven.

I have found a few things that matter to me;

People I love, shoes that fit,

And warm, sunny days.

Your list may be longer or more profound.

In that case you win.

Perhaps you will share your insight, or

Are your truths more equivocal than mine?

Beyond statistics I’ve no feeling of mortality,

No reason to believe that insight

Is part of a birthright,

Or that my lack of deification precludes knowing.                   

I had a morphine moment,

That took me to a place

Where everything, EVERYTHING

Was transparent, and understood.

                                                                                                        

Its reality being too intense to sustain or repeat.                                      

I resigned myself to pleasantries                                    

That would subsume my being

And the moment passed.

My Date With Sarah

Sarah is way too tall.

Sitting beside her, my head

barely reaches her jaw.

My face must be beet red.

Charlie, my buddy Charlie,

who I claim to have beaten in yesterday’s bike race,

sits on the other side of Sarah.

In the seat behind me smiles the she-devil.

I can’t see her but I know

she is having a great time.

She has just said, in a really loud voice,

“Does your mother take you to the movies often”?

I’m sure the bitch has pimples,

chews gum like a cow

and ...and...

I am going too leap over my seat and kill her.

But Charlie, God bless him, rides to the rescue.

Taking his very large soft drink thermos,

unscrewing its top, he turns to the she-devil and says

“Would you like to see my pet snake’?

It was sixty year ago, but I can still remember her scream,

And her unbridled, unprintable response.

I was never sure I won that bike race.

If I find Charlie I’ll give him a rematch.

To Belong

Larry Schwartz was a nice guy,

and he was really popular.

To be invited to lunch with Larry and the guys

Was worth a lot.

It was an easy decision to toss Mom’s sandwich,

A good salami with mustard on Rye,

(Telling them it was just a cream cheese and jelly.)

In favor of being one of the boys.

From time to time Gail Smith was Larry’s girl-friend.

Gail was unattached 

When we accidentally meet on Avenue U one year later.

It was very nice, talking to this pretty girl.

We said goodbye without my getting her phone number,

Without my inviting her to a Saturday movie,

Without my doing anything that might be constructive.

I was a fifteen year old with few social skills, in torment.

If I had fresh salami sandwich 

It might have led to our sitting on a park bench.

I sure wished I had that sandwich to share with Gail.

Did I say Gail was really nice and very pretty?

We could have gone to the movies,

Maybe held hands.

I would have walked her home,

And she would have become my girl-friend.

I Hate Morty Russinow

5 floors down lived the enemy.

 Taller, better looking, faster,

 And vastly superior academically.

 How could I not hate him?

 60 years later I still hear my mother,

 “Look how good Morty is doing,

 Why can’t you be more like him?”

 How could I not hate him?

Did I mention he was more popular?

Oh yes, Morty was a very popular guy.

Do I sound like an escapee

From a Woody Allen monologue?

 Yet, I knew I was smarter than Morty..sort of.

 I prayed to be taller.

 (Before adjustable dental seats

It required 2 New York phone books

To reach a height where the dentist could examine my teeth.)

But not Morty.

6 inches taller then my puny Holocaust-like self,

He could look straight over my head.

How could I not hate him?

Ha! Vengeance comes in many forms.

While he may have persisted in being taller

Morty grew up and became a dentist.

I hate him only occasionally now.

Do the Time, Not the Crime

Luck may always hold the ace of spades.

You are in the “what if” seat,

and reading the cards is critical.

Do not play before you think!

Have you chosen the right table?

How would you know?

What can be said of your opponents?

Can you improve the odds?

Those questions must be answered. Do it!

It would be foolish not to know what is knowable.

Now comes the separation:

Will you do the time or commit the crime?

There are clues, witnesses and writers.

Claim those who preceded you as allies,

never ignore the “what ifs”,

            even when they call you from sleep.

To fail is not a crime.

Life holds so many challenges,

If accepted resolutely,

Failure is bad luck.

If you don’t plan all that well

there exists the possibility

that you may spend the greater part of your life

hoping for the Ace of Spades. That would be a crime.