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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
his sister studied
her face in the
looking glass,
and dreamt of the
handsome lad apprenticed
to the smithy.
