Taken Hostage

Taken Hostage

No matter 
how determined i am
to tell my story,

the characters--
within a few pages,

untie my shoelaces,
hijack my mind,
blindfold my eyes,

and urge me down a path
(spear point to the back)

neither Marco Polo,
nor Meriwether Lewis,
nor Google

have ever seen before.
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Like Bogey and Bacall

Like Bogey and Bacall

If i were ever to be young again,

i’d cash out my savings,

and start up a yogurt company.

With all due respect,

i’d call it

Humphrey Yogurt,

with flavors like

African Queen–

of hot romance and lemon,

Casablanca–

of smoky piano and vanilla, 

and

Key Largo–

of grave danger and chilled chardonnay.

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Fast Learners

Fast Learners

We caddies didn’t look like much

in our hung out to dry jeans and t-shirts,

but we were hired by

some of Seattle’s finest citizens–

the two buck fee and a dollar tip, made three.

At first we were mere mules

shouldering a heavy load,

or silent statues

eyeing the unruly flight of the ball,

but soon enough

they taught us

most of what gentlemen need to know–

how to throw clubs,

spit,

cuss,

fudge 

the ball with our foot,

and pee

behind

trees.

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Scammers

Scammers

If only men came courting with

Scam Likely

factory installed apps

where their useless appendixes used to was

there’d be a lot less heartbreak,

tear-stained pillowcases,

and the constant need for

updated

fibs.

Photo by Ana Francisconi on Pexels.com

Fare Thee Well

Fare Thee Well

A slight rise in the earth,

a gentle place near the school’s entrance,

marks the spot where we teachers

gather on this most joyful day,

the raggedy remnant of the school year measured in hours

to wave good-bye

(God Be With Ye)

(We Did What We Could)

to our charges, their heads stuffed with us,

now Colts to pasture, set free to cavort and buck as they please.

And we, stern taskmasters all, 

discover our smiles once more,

cast off our titles, Mr. or Ms.,

to become again,

Barb, Phil, Dale, Terri, Mik, Rin, Carolyn, Doug, Dawn, Mike, Arlys, and Joan. 

Amid the deafening roar of honking buses pulling away, we catch 

young faces tight to windows, frantic waves, smiles, tears,

and the occasional

bold middle finger.

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A Soldier’s Dilemma

A Soldier’s Dilemma

What you aim at,

Sir,

is not an
empty can
perched atop a 
snowy fence post,

nor is it a 
shadowy deer
gliding through 
your autumn forest.

rather, 

your hand steady,

your eye focused,

your finger gentle

on the trigger, 

you plot 

to end the life of a 
brother human being,

lest he
end yours.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.co

Ripped

Ripped

Before fitness gyms 
were invented,

a young man’s 

muscles

usually came
from helping his

Father

lift the stones,

and fetching 
water and firewood

for his 

Mother.

Meanwhile

Photo by Gabriel Silva on Pexels.com

his sister studied

her face in the

looking glass,

and dreamt of the

handsome lad apprenticed

to the  smithy.