Overheard At The Derby
I do like your hat.
really?
yes. it reminds me of a lampshade i once knew.
really?
yes. like you, the lamp wore it slightly askew.
you mean crooked?
aye. awry. cocked just so over one eye.
really?
yes. it’s a fabulous look.
thank you. is your horse running today?
horse? i came but to see the hats.
Shopping Trip
Little baby bunting
Mother’s gone a hunting
for broccoli
and garlic
and onions
and wine
and cheese
and bread
and eggplant
and ground beef
and pasta
and evoo.
evoo, Mama?
pay attention, Child.
extra virgin olive oil.
Hot Stuff
Whenever my
ego fluffs up
and
gets in the way
of
humility,
i remember me
how little i know
of
auto mechanics,
pie crust,
algebra,
and especially
the unfathomable riddle called
women.
Then things even out
real fast.
Estate Sale
Like winged vultures
drawn by the stench
of smoldering carrion,
we’ve come to satisfy
our lust for
more, more, more.
unlike these black-winged
marauders of the sky,
whose manners are
somewhat suspect,
we follow a more civilized
ritual of taking numbers,
and wait our turn to enter this
sacred house of the dead.
i follow the rush to the
room with books
where pushy re-sellers perch,
shoulder to shoulder,
before the shelves
in their primitive craving
for the steaming vital organs—
signed first-editions,
dust covers mercifully intact—
a Hemingway—
Green Hills of Africa—
(oh, most happy day).
appetites sated, the lions lick their chops
and saunter off.
next the squabbling hyenas,
angry at the delay, move in,
while the vultures circle overhead,
desperate for an overlooked morsel.
finally it is my turn,
and i finger the bony carcass
hoping to discover the profession,
the hobbies, and the education
of the person who sat next the window
to catch the light.
A Remembrance
Catch any raindrop in your palm,
and hold it as you would a precious pearl;
it matters not what
latitude
or
longitude
you sail,
or
distant city
you
wander,
when you lift it
to your nose,
you’ll be back
home in
Seattle.
A Stranger
In America
I can
walkabout
in anonymity,
a person of little consequence—
not celebrated athlete,
nor foul-mouthed rapper,
nor extra handsome movie star.
But, turn me loose
in rural Japan
and I become
an instant object of interest—
a steaming meteorite fallen from the sky—
causing murmurs of surprise,
“gaijin, gaijin, gaijin”
mothers pointing, whispering to their children,
and turned heads—
a foreigner, not of us—
an unwashed soybean in a cup of rice—
a blemish never over-looked.
And there, for all to see,
stranded,
me,
a tentative celebrity,
without a word of Japanese
in my pocket.
Wonderments and Such
Children should discover
the tales of Robin Hood
and
Hansel and Gretel
and
Snow White
and many others of course,
but also,
they need to visit beaches
and get down on their knees to play
in the sand.
For it is there they will
begin to imagine
how many uncountable grains of sand
there must be clinging around the edges of
the world.
And thus, when they turn their
gaze to the night sky
they will also
wonder
how many stars
there must be illuminating all corners of the
Universe.
And so too,
these story tellings,
these imaginings,
these wonderments,
will help them look
inward
and examine themselves
with a much greater
sense of humility.
