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