Tangerines

I got the tomatoes.
Squeezed them a little,
Not knowing what I might
Be testing for.

Vons, redone,
Felt a lot nicer
The tangerines looked particularly tempting
But I had come for tomatoes, just tomatoes.

Halting at the door,
Weighing the idea of tangerines,
Wondering if my pay-grade
Allowed for such free lance purchases?

Undecided, my miserly nature took hold.
“I might not eat them. They could be tasteless”
And other neurotic notions
Skidded between my ears.

OK, no tangerines!
What was $2.25?
A test of my frugality?
There must be a larger principle.

Now, a block from the supermarket,
It seemed absurd to go back.
Consider the time wasted.
But, I wanted a tangerine.

Feeling like a very poor
Version of the “Lady and the Lion”,
I chose to retrace my steps.
And with kudos to Robert Frost,
“It Made All the Difference”.

The Sound of Freedom

It must recall some great moments.
Rising off the carrier deck,
Fulll loaded, looking for the enemy,
Explosive engines at full throttle.

That’s the sound of freedom.
My neighbor turns to me for a high five
Or just a smiling confirmation.
I must look confused.

Maybe he can distinguish
Between the jet that is just passing
And the sound of other jet fighters,
Ones he hasn’t flown?

I hear power, without agenda.
Had there been a sound from Silver,
The Lone Rangers steed,
That would have meant freedom.

I think there was.
Bad guys beware!
Help was coming.
Surely, the masked man would save the day?

Some small, long-forgotten ember
Of my childhood’s delight reignites
As the FX-35 thunders overhead
Streaking to engage the tyrants.

What freedom does my neighbor hear?
Does he ride the range. securing our borders?
If so, I’m grateful.

Coffee With Alex

After asking our permission,
Alex joins us for coffee.
Chubby, with bright eyes,
He speaks of the American dream.

Alex and Irene own Kafka’s coffee shop
At the edge of “Old Town”.
I suspect that Irene does the work
And Alex does the schmoozing.

Born and raised in the Philippines,
They have six children,
All born in America, all working.
Four are teachers.

Business, at the coffee shop, has been slow
These last two years,
But the couple continue to send money
To maintain his elderly mother.

With all the children out of the house
These past five years,
They have opened their home to
Students from other countries.

It might have been the bright sunlight,
Partially shaded by blooming Maple trees,
Or the easy humor marking our conversation;
But I found myself believing Alex to be real.

There were no dark corners as we spoke.
I have been to Disneyland
And witnessed a child speaking to a six foot mouse.
I wish to hold onto small miracles.

It Would Have Been Enough

Had we accepted
That we had no “Manifest Destiny”,
Leaving others a right to chose,
It would have been enough.

We have seen the dog lie down
With the Polar Bear
And a duck befriend a kitten.
That should have been enough.

We have witnessed millenniums of war,
Fought not for survival
But for the right to proclaim a greater god.
That should have been enough.

We have learned that our planet
Is less then a grain of sand
In the Sahara in a universe will survive us.
That should have been enough.

We have split the atom and watered the desert,
But will kill for the deck chair
On the doomed vessel.
It will never be enough

High Desert

A freight train, replete
With three additional engines
Moves through the afterthought
Of a dry landscape.

Reminiscent of a Hopper painting,
A once overworked, now alien, car trailer
Seems to have settled sadly
By a trail west, that is now a highway.

I turn at the sound of a 16 wheeler
Roaring down US 15,
To face the Denny’s that sits,
Apologetically, between me and the expressway.

Its faded dark brown facade
And near empty parking lot
Suggest a second failure
At retrieving a promise.

This cool sunny day
Does not imbue the scene
With the life or hope
That brought trailer and restaurant here.

Family Traditions

“Cultural relativism” sounds like
A lecture given by Dear Abbey.
Calvin knew of it
Long before he held Pat’s head under water.

Forced to her knees,
Her head in the toilet bowl,
Left no visible marks,
And resolved heated arguments.

It was not a matter of religious principle,
Not with Calvin’s tribe,
Merely a method of reenforcing status.
There had not been an acceptance of rank.

My sense of outrage was cautioned
By a voice whispering behind my silenced lips.
“Who makes it wrong
If Calvin’s tribe nods?”

Concern for minority rights, education of children
Giving to the poor and respect for elders...
Generations have settled domestic differences with no physical scars.
It is a family tradition.

Child’s Smile

There are few things as genuine
As a child’s tears,
Or ,a big smile
We he is happy

As I walked Rose across the grass park circle,
We stopped to admire a beautiful family scene.
I nodded to the young father
Whose son was resting on Dad’s stomach

Dismounting Dad, our year old protagonist
Stumbled in my direction.
Like many a small child
Intent on loving a puppy.

Why children often have
A genetic attraction to dogs I don’t know,
But I quickly rehearsed
“You must get Mommy’s Ok first”.

Surprisingly this little boy
Was not especially interested in Rose.
Holding up his hands as he ran, passed the dog,
Came toward me with the universal “pick me up” signal.

With a nod of Mom’s head
I was OK’d to lift the child.
He was immediately comfortable
In the arms of this stranger.

Both his eyes and mouth
Smiled at his situation.
A delighted child
In the arms of a great good friend.

Two minutes later I released
Child to Mom’s waiting arms,
Only to have the kid decide
He was happier with me.
This story had a mixed ending.
I lost sight of my list of 100 things
That were perplexing me
As I shared the child's happiness.

I am sure the toddler
Recovered from the loss
When I put him down and left,
But not until he cried bloody murder.