A Military Pilot's Dilemma What you aim at, Sir, is not an empty barracks, the enemy fled, nor is it a camouflaged munition's dump, a hidden reservoir of chaotic destruction. Rather, your hand steady, your eye focused, your finger gentle on the trigger, the landscape roaring by, you plot to create bloody rubble of a merciful hospital and end the lives of pregnant women, unborn children, and those who tend them lest they live another hour. From the Wonderments and Such collection . . . j
Cuckoo's Nest Running late for work is not a valid excuse for speeding. But it is a reason. Being insane is not a valid excuse for waging war. But it is a reason. Let's leave it at that. . . . j
No Wrist Slaps We outraged poets demand governments around the world install the most excruciating sanctions possible against the dictator and his power hungry henchmen. The Russian people are innocent of this crime against humanity. We stand with them against tyranny. John E. Irby
The World Against Tyranny Today I augment my treasured American citizenship and adopt Ukraine as my homeland and vow to stand steel strongagainst this outrageous Russian tyranny led by Putin and his thugs. John E Irby
Oral Hygiene If the only compliment his daughter could share about his life for the obituary was “He still had most of his teeth,” we can be quite certain he had wronged at least one woman, neglected his children, and didn’t much like dogs. But still, some credit is due because, apparently, he managed to brush three times a day. from the Wonderments and Such collection . . . j
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. from the Wonderments and Such collection . . . j
Unmerited Finery She said, "Open wide." I did. She said, “Close down.” I did. Even though I'm barely a commoner, much more the peasant or serf, she treated me as Royalty, placing a crown on an exhausted molar. "Thank you," I said, and hurried home toward Buckinghorse Palace lest I be found out. from the Wonderments and Such collection . . . j
Rosemary Toward the end of 6th grade, on a school field trip, Rosemary, much larger than I, grabbed me hard by the throat and kissed me full on the lips. I recoiled in horror and wiped my mouth of it. She's gone now, and she never gave me another. Some nights, late and alone in the dark, I long for one more, but, it was a once in a lifetime event. from the Wonderments and Such collection . . . j
Anything Helps He stood in the deserted island formed at the intersection of Kolb and 22nd Street. Sleepy-eyed commuters glanced at his cardboard declarations: Poem Free He clutched sheets of white paper flapping like seagull wings on the stirred currents of whizzing cars. The light turned the color of autumn leaves. Cars slowed and rested. Windows slid down. Elbows protruded. Voices sang out. “Any of those old-school rhymes today?” “Hey, man. Make me giggle. Need one terrible like.” “Loved yesterday’s. Read it to my kids at the dinner table.” “Touch my heart, Poet. It’s hurtin’ bad sore.” “I got a feeling you’re gonna make me cry.” He walked the line. Handed ‘em out. Touched skin. Stretched his grin. “Morning,” he said. “Feelin’ good today?” “Thinkin’ ‘bout yuh,” he said. “Hope this helps,” he said. The light changed color, golf course green. Traffic edged away, a soothed tide going out. Some waved the words out the window in a nice, see yuh later kinda way— and his ribs ached from the banging goin’ on inside. from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection . . . j
Under Repair She had dreams as big as yours— of college— fine clothes— a useful career— but, someone grabbed her heart, that junior year. He said, “I Love You,” and she was trusting enough to believe his thinly sliced Promises, Kisses and Caresses. The upshot, (surprise, surprise) a baby girl came along, perfect in every way. The boy soon drifted away, a small boat, unmoored. So, there was no high school graduation strut across the stage, or cartwheels with diploma in hand, or proud parents beaming. Home alone that celebratory evening, her daughter fussy and running a fever, bottle bubbling, angry on the stove, and later, when the baby finally fell asleep, she, our dropout, stood before the mirror, imagining a glorious satin cap and gown, tassel flipped to one side, It was then she saw herself, at fifteen bucks an hour standing beside a dusty road, dressed in sloppy jeans, hard hat, and fluorescent vest holding a SLOW, sign that she wished she had noticed way back when. from the Childhood Remedy and Other Such collection . . . j
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