Turning The Corner

They waited for me.

I missed last year's game

and was delighted to see

it's even better then I remembered.

Turning the corner on Fifth Avenue and 55^th, I smiled.

There was a number M20 bus, unable to clear that corner

because a large furniture truck was trapped at the crosswalk,

because foot traffic blocked its path, because… You get it?

The only discordant note was the lack of horns.

Every year past, on any major cross city street,

you could put money on a post modern ensemble

creating a cacophony of monumentally outraged drivers.

It was incumbent upon me to allow this transgression.

This extraordinary reticence to bellow

at the fates and every other driver.

I accepted the brief lull as a grand welcome to a returning vet.

This is my town.

A place I had hated for 25 years,

But now accept as a neurotic teenager

hell bent on being "king of the hill".

As a senior member, I rejoiced in the warning

offered by the pedestrian I had not run-over 

when he stood, as an obstacle, between me and

my turning that corner: he would “sue my ass”.

I Recognize the Music

Trillions of dollars and we have won nothing.

4,500 of our soldiers died and we have won nothing.

200,000 or more Iraqi’s, many civilians, dead

and we have won nothing.

This time it will be different.?

ISIS threatens Syria and Iraq.

The British are mildly interested.

Saudi Arabia finds the situation “awkward”.

Qatar is sympathetic, and

Kuwait is noncommittal.

Let us give more weapons

that self-destruct in two months,

minimizing their use against us.

We must quiet the Middle-East

Andy: Next Chapter

Had a little verbal skirmish last night. Andy, my best friend died, not unexpectedly, early yesterday morning. Walking home after the argument I went through my own version of grief. My second step was an apology to Andy for losing my cool. (The lost
cool” being the first step.) No doubt there will be more agitatah and more apologizes in the near future.

I should have learned in our two years of discussions, that included coffees & a shared cookie, better strategies. Andy would have argued that winning is not the objective, resolution is. Maybe when my hearing grows overwhelmingly impaired, so that I wont hear someone’s angry remarks, I will reach that advanced state of enlightenment?

Long before I went to bed I had established my loss. All those conversations, including the ones that we never had, soothed my disquiet, so that I focused on what would no longer be part of my life. But in so doing I was led through all those: Fareed interviews we had both watched, the humor we shared three or four mornings a week with the “girls” at the Starbuck bar at the Del, the agreement on international problems, the attractiveness of a passing female, and a decision as to weather (was it a top 10 day or merely just superb?).

I hope to keep memories, however inaccurate, of our two years as loving best friends.

Why Do They Hate Obama?

Stories reverberate in a tight symmetric circle.

Did Donald Trump underwrite this blasphemy?

It is worthy of Goebbels,

And comes from the same hatred.

This victim is not Jewish, he is Black.

You have a new confirmation every week..

It adds to what you “know” to be true.

Obama is out to destroy the United States.

His healthcare law will be our downfall.

I grow tired of avoiding the word.

“Racist”

Politics is not the root cause of this disease.

You were taught to hate.

It is not a genetic condition.

Your education included guidelines.

“My God they’re in the school!”

A 16-year-old student screamed when

Little Rock Central High was integrated.

Years later that student repented.

It may not be too late for you.

Two Weeks Later

We writers, who stretched our resumes

By performing a bit of magic for thirty people,

Are coming back to earth, and I for one

Can count a few failures, omissions and commissions

That demand I growl at myself.

Easily the best take-away from Oz was listening

To my writing buddies just crank it up.

That one hour, on Sunday 8/3/14, adds to a very special list.   

Manhattan

Faces on noisy, cluttered streets, bare no memory of 9/11.

That retching moment does not press,

Perhaps a footnote marking the beginning of the insanity.

(The wars will need a Homer like hand.)

Like a swiftly flowing river, eating at its banks,

Enjoining the refuse that  moves with the current,

I step into the morning and its motion.

There is far too much to comprehend.

The street allows all to move,

But offers no mercy to the weak.

No time to assist their passage.

They’re obstacles to be moved aside.

The good people of the city recognize

Someone else’s price to keep the pace.

They believe going to the bar

Does not mean they will drink.

Like a well run asylum, it has rank and distinctions:

It produces art necessitated by the Sirens.

People hide in their private spaces.

Kitty Genovese is not their problem.

The street folks, seek shelter and safety,

In their small desperate world,

That most fear to see.

They are a real inconvenience.

So much art, history, music.

Displays beyond imagining.

Street fairs and markets,

Even silence can be found here.

Finding sun under a pristine blue sky

Requires a sojourn in “The Park”

Where the vertiginous giants give way,

In some small measure, to man.

Beyond Columbus Circle

We enter the miracle of Central Park,

Which offers more than a respite 

From the sound and motion.

The grass, trees, waters,

Watch us, offering dreams.

Benches ask for thought, require we tarry.

A chauffeured merchant prince wears slippers,

Believing they crown him a “renaissance man.”

A museum bookstore sells a book named “Fart”

In the children’s section.  All part of the day.

I love the city, for two weeks a year.

The Rise and Fall of the Chocolate Cookie

Where have all the flowers gone?

They have given way to change,

That inevitable drive to whatever comes next.

So too our brilliant sojourn with the Chocolate Cookie.

I remember when we braved the call.

After more than a year of fidelity,

We crossed swards, and opted for a single cookie.

Those were the days!

Bravely we relinquished our standard,

Practiced more than 3 days a week.

After 1,487 coffee and cookie mornings

We succumbed to the trumpets call for moderation.

Sadly we have broken our unspoken vow.

Those who have served us so well are greatly troubled.

“Fruit cups!, you have deserted your religious tradition,

In search of a still lower caloric count. Is nothing sacred?”

I Hate Morty Rossinow

 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.

Before The Wall

What did that artist mean?

His painting is a mess.

Lines and colors collide,

as if painted by an reckless child.

Can a painting be a metaphor?

Surely he could not have meant

to coordinate such contrasting messages?

I’m told it was his last work,

before he hit the wall.