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.

Diplomacy Council

They really care.

Makes them a little scary,

But since nonviolence is in the portfolio

It seems safe to assist.

Tasks are easily assigned

When the entire organization consists of four.

Delegation means choosing a different

Tone of voice.

A peanut-sized staff offers a second advantage:

You will not suffer message disintegration.

What demands you make not succeed,

But not because of a failure to communicate.

This merry band of few,

Underpaid and overworked,

Busies itself with aliens.

No, not the green ten head-ed kind.

Their job is to reach, reach across borders,

Oceans, skin pigments, languages,

Religious distinctions and time,

In search of shared concerns and solutions.

Day to day enthusiasm is not a cynic’s delight,

Thus, I view the determination to add value

That these insufferable people bring to their job

A resolution that is suspect. They really care.

Time To Go

Why this bridge?

Plenty of room for walkers,

Easy to clear the railing

And the water is warm.

I have turned this into a big event.

Not that crowds will witness my jump,

Just enough to mark the occasion,

And my mother will be notified.

I’ve printed my name in my collar to facilitate identification.

All these years ...and still I accuse my mother.

In truth, I don’t know what she could have done.

I was headed here 20 years ago.

Strange, I should care about warm water.

From the top of a 100 foot leap

I’ll hit an unforgiving surface.

SPLAT.

The kid will be better off.

My mom will be a better mother.

At least she wont have to support me.

I am so scared, so very very scared.

Risk

 Jeff understood that some issues are taboo.

This guys’ lunch group will force him to change the subject.

That’s OK, as long as he kept their attention.

What would happen if he let go?

Would asking questions work?

Could he limit the flow of comments?

What happens when they drifted away?

Is that a sign he is not welcome?

There will always be risks.

Can he back off and allow the conversation

To come to him, and

Accept that it might not?

He knew John would try to change the subject,

Pushing Mel or Wally into the dialogue.

What does it matter?

Can he trust these guys?

Jeff has lost control more than once,

Creating imaginary obstacles to acceptance.

His brain and humor should be enough.

But he will never risk the isolation.

It's Not My Business

Caught between the compulsion

To express an opinion that may help

And an awareness that my offering 

May be pure ego and very much unappreciated,

I usually side with exercising 

Mouth and jaw.

Sure, there’s a risk I’ll be perceived

As an asshole who understands nothing,

Failing to recognize the recipient of my excellent advice

Would gladly settle for a mumbled “tsh, tsh”.

Finally, I see I do have a choice,

And if I can slow down long enough to appreciate

The existence of an option,

Whatever I decide might just represent wisdom.