Leo

Leo is not well loved by his three daughters.

They don’t have religion.

Leo has enough for the whole family.

 He invokes his faith when Libby,

his gay daughter, mentions her live-in partner.

Thanks to his son-in-law,

who is up for sainthood,

Leo is recently settled in a memory loss facility.

I hope the young man gets Leo’s money.

Leo’s church has gifted him a smug black and white cat.

His half sister speaks to him every week

But now it doesn’t turn into a religious diatribe.

Leo is 85 and finally happy.

Eleven Pages Unread

This book has been a softly demanding journey.

I might never read those last words,

perhaps depriving myself of the author’s climatic moment

when his greatest inspiration

would render all 400

previous pages merely introductory comment.

I am taken with the idea,

I might know where his story should end,

And have reached that point.

Today my editor,

unpaid and happy to offer comments,

expressed disappointment

“too often I end a piece of poetry or

prose without answering a question

that a reader needs resolved”

Both that unidentified reader and my editor are right.

I apologize.

It is not ego that demands I stop,

perhaps too soon.

I have merely reached a point where words fail.

Silent Night

“Silent Night” sung in the small Catholic Church near Mumbai.

The immediate neighbors could hear its modest organ.

Most could recall the music from prior years,

and took no offense at the Jesus celebration.

The mission had settled here years ago;

Quiet people who made no bother.

Of the thirty people gathered in the church

Seven were part of the choir.

Their voices could not be heard

Beyond the stone walls,

Nor could the congregants hear the solders coming.

Most local residents had candlelight only,

And went to bed at nightfall.

They probably did not hear the muffled sounds

of the dozen men carefully approaching the church.

The choir had not quite finished singing Silent Night

When the door was smashed in and the shooting started.

The Last Drop of Rain

This morning’s rain was not forecast.

It comes as an unwelcome guest,

Not withstanding the bone-dried earth.

For the rain is likely to disrupt my travel plans.

Does my attitude not offend you?

Am I not declaring my convenience sacrosanct,

Thereby discarding the credo that would intone

“ the greatest good for the greatest number”?

Could I not respond that I honor your credo,

But not every day, in every situation?

Surely you would not abandon moderation,

Which calls for elasticity and the recognition

That exceptions mark us a superior species.

Is it not the singularity that has rendered us

Earth’s greatest creators and rulers?

Sadly, our dominance has not always been beneficial,

But that my friend  requires an understanding that transcends

Our time in grade.

Dilemma: Man with a Cigarette

There’s this screwball standing in front of me. My wife, granddaughter and a friend were relaxing over coffee when this nut shows-up to complain about my smoking. His buddy, who is about to join us, is not a well man.

I explain to them that the hotel patio coffee shop allows smoking. Further there is really no place in the area where I can smoke and drink coffee. The interior of the hotel prohibits it, so I really have no alternative. The nut, now standing over my chair, suggests that we can move to the furthest table or not smoke while they are at the adjoining table. He goes on to say that his friend has difficulty sitting in the lobby bar. It seems he is easily chilled, and without heating he is unable to stay in the lobby.

I again explain my lack of choices, and my granddaughter, now15, loudly insists that her granddad has a “perfect right to smoke right where he is.”. The sick guy offers a sarcastic “thanks a lot” and they leave.

I come here often to enjoy a cigarette with my coffee. It bothers me that those guys got my granddaughter so upset. Of course they have the same right as me to sit on this patio.

Morning Coffee

The “girls” who brew the morning coffee,

Have been a presence in my life

That I have taken for granted far too long.

My buddy Andy has past,
And the split, delicious, chocolate cookie now belongs to

Diana, our dogs (Rosie, Doobie) and me.

If Aida, Karina, Lupe, Mary and Pattie,

The Starbuck “baristas”, who greet me as an old friend

When I confirm our coffee and cookie order,

Were to vanish, they would take with them

The joy their smiles and morning exasperations

Bring to my day.

A Beautiful Game

These girls were here to have fun. Not so #27, the starting point guard for Lincoln Junior High. The team was 0 -14 this season.   Her four starting teammates never gave up, and never gave in.  Unfortunately, they failed to understand  “blocking out”, “fighting for a rebound”  a “hard screen” or “dribbling”. They were called for “walking” 16 times in the first half. It could have been whistled every time one of her teammates attempted to dribble, but the ref was sympathetic.

At halftime their coach, four inches smaller then any of his players, spoke of teamwork. (His qualification for the job included an SUV that could hold the starting five and the team’s Chihuahua mascot.) Number 27 held back tears when noting her school was down 22 to 4.

If the second half is to be distinguished from the first, it likely was because 27 simply “lost it”. Her teammates were very busy cheering, smiling and having a good time. 27 was fighting for loose balls, racing back on defense, and occasionally screaming at the gods who saw fit to put her on this team of “stupid farts”.

The final score, 43 to 9, was celebrated by the coach, the cheerleaders, and their 8 fans. It was as close to double digits as they had achieved all season.

A Time For Children

What’s to be said after you are called out?

Maybe skills learned seventy years earlier emerge?

Lenny was bitter, outraged by our neglect.

Sid and I had eaten lunch without him.

In truth we’d never thought of Lenny.

We had included him in our semi-annual

Lunch five months earlier.

As usual, we had been four couples.

But, I digress, for I wish to speak of children;

those poor defensive creatures intent on control.

We had violated Lenny’s world,

maybe out of indifference, possibly by intention.

I hoped my eyes did not convey

a seven-year-old’s sense of power.

The Widow

If her apartment was spacious, it wasn’t friendly.

Careful planning had suggested she would do well here.

Friendships might be lost or tarnished in the move

and sights and smells compromised.

Time might smooth many of the irritations,

but that cannot be hurried.

I sit next to Alice.

We are having dinner in the buildings’

21^st story, half empty,  restaurant.

If the food is safe, it is not appealing.

I wish to scream,

To express the outrage, the assault

On once less subdued people,

Who now can only smile and take comfort in their comfort.

I want them to demand a faster ending.

Carl, My Business Lawyer

In truth he was no longer anyone’s lawyer, having been disbarred years ago. He was a sharp number, and came to me via a recovering alcoholic friend. Carl and I became friends. He wished to buy my business, but the deal fell apart when his moneyman refused to put down the agreed upon non-refundable deposit.

It then went to strange.  Within an hour of the collapse Carl’s wife, Barbara, called. She wanted to have a baby soon, very soon. If the sale did not go through there would be no baby…and I would be responsible. Barbara was in no mood to hear my concerns, and crying, hung up. I brooded, thinking she might go back to drinking.

Carl phoned minutes later. “Barbara’s hysterical”, he said. It was October 1983, long before cell-phones. I was dumbfounded when Carl interrupted my explanation of the conversation with Barbara to “advise” me they had mistakenly recorded Barbara’s call . Did you ever have the feeling you wanted to stay and still have the feeling you wanted to go?  I sure did.

“Carl, you are one stupid fucking son-of-a-bitch” came to mind. I said, “Carl that is very strange and unfortunate. Why did you share that “mistake” with me?” Silence followed until I hung up.