End Games

I cannot begin to number the times

I stood at an imagined window

Wrapped in failure

A bad throw to first, a smile not returned

So many endgames resolved at that window,

Many climaxing from an unseen direction,

Some brilliantly others less so

All, all those crescendos are histories

That will color tomorrow’s chapters,

Reducing or eliminating yesterday’s Endgames.

Between Dying and Death

If I assume that we are born

With no meaningful objective,

Beyond embodying another example

Of the continuation of our species

And a vehicle for another generation,

I will make of my life deeds that

Express my shifting notion of values

With little thought of my story’s end.

To stand apart with my perception

Of the day’s events is merely a necessary

Device that permits dreams that sustain

A rationalized continuity, which

Camouflages the inevitable realization

That our performance is of the act of dying. 

Values

Two days before Xmas my neighbor, Jim, lost his very expensive chimney decorations. No doubt it was last night’s storm winds that destroyed his Santa Clause, Reindeers and assorted gift boxes.

I was across the street, walking our dogs, when Jim began cursing the fates that had crushed his electrified Santa. His anger seemed to overwhelm his sorrow as he crushed the pathetic remnants to dust.

 Alex, our one-armed street recycler, was on his regular empty bottle run and witnessed both the grief and the rage that enveloped Jim.  Alex continued his regular garbage can route which carried him up to the despondent Jim’s sidewalk. After checking Jim’s trash and finding nothing of value, he offered Jim condolences for the broken Santa and continued his morning route.

Jim smiled after the retreating figure for a few seconds, shook his head and returned to his house.    

Part Of The Game

I wasn’t going in to work this morning.

The courts were empty but for a guy

Ten years younger and a better shot.

After exchanging first names

We chose and David got the ball out.

Like just about every outdoor court

The rim was merciless

Your shot swished or bounced high and wide.

David was killing me when we took ten.

For reasons beyond recall I spoke about black players

When did they get guys who could hit an outside shot?

I spoke about Sweet Water Clifton.

Man could dribble, but was blind beyond 15 feet.

David spoke about Oscar Robertson

Who could dribble, pass and score 30 points or more.

David, a black guy, suggested

Oscar played when color didn’t limit your game. 

More Fog Possible

That was the forecast “more fog possible”

It’s hard not to appreciate the cleverness

And ambiguity of that assertion.

It immediately rules out the impossible,

While not laying claim to a definitive result.

I suppose less fog would still be possible,

And, for that matter, we could have a sand storm

Which would not foreclose a pastrami sandwich

If the corner deli is open when more fog hits

As to the service that tracks the accuracy

Of weather forecasts, they have a problem.

If every daily prediction allowed for an infinite

Number of possibilities, the forecaster would never be wrong

One could argue that his/her pronouncements

Are brilliant reminders of days past

When the Greek Pythia were called upon

To mumble what the gods might favor.

He Who Speaks Last Loses

Maybe I was old enough, or I had lost enough verbal battles to conclude that there had to be a better way. It was finally brought home to me after yet another unsatisfactory finish to a negotiation with a Taiwan merchant’s sales representative.

What he had learned was that Americans, and maybe many others, could not abide a round of bargaining that stalled just short of consummation. When faced with what I took to be a failure on my part I inevitably conceded or offered a less self-satisfactory alternative.

After an embarrassing series of such meetings I decided to try a different close. When all but one aspect of an agreement had been completed, a particular manufacturer’s rep, wearing his best innocent smile, “looked” for me to nod. Instead I just returned his smile. This standoff lasted a very long 30 seconds. He was on commission and decided he had more too lose.

Over time I found this tactic (just shy of being a strategy) very effective, and not only in business. You and your friend are discussing what movie to see. Go silent and see what happens.  

It certainly doesn’t always work. Often I broke the silence and changed the subject. Still, if properly handled the downside is small.  

Straight Line

Recalling an event that occurred yesterday

Two years ago, or was it some other time

While still being yesterday’s image, though

Less clear?

If there is a straight line connecting

All my recollections to me.

Then, perhaps, I have metamorphosed 

So that my history is of one day?

One day, but in different times and places

One day but “I” was always in transition

And it was an other me

Who thought the same reality had shifted.

It is very confusing, and

May require a mental archeologist

To decide on the probability that

Something had happened at sometime.

They’re Not Ready Yet.

No doubt Judge Scalia is right.

Blacks are not ready for really good schools.

Unfortunately, he offers merely acceptance.

How are these inferior souls to be prepared

So that they may, someday, be smiled upon?

If the parents are unwilling or unable to lead

Where are the children to learn the necessary skills?

Perhaps Blacks are best served by lesser goals.

Options that are more easily attained,

Will likely cause less emotional distress

For a child that must grapple with its 

Impoverished home environment.

Of course if I were black I’d be outraged

Failing the color test I am outraged

By the assumptions carried in the good judges words.!!

Hawaiian Holiday Music

Stanford Court Nursing center

Lies twenty miles east of San Diego

There, if the dining room tranquility is disturbed

We could blame the Hawaiians;

Nine ladies and two male musicians who

Have come to share a pre Christmas hour

With residents and guests of this nursing home.

They offer Christmas songs and soft swaying Hula dancing.

Hawaiian smiles and humor are plentiful and warmly received

By staff and wheelchair bound residents.

When the music is pau  (finished)

Dancers and singers walk among their audience

Offering season greetings and a warm gentle hand.