Delores and her cat

There was a toilet down the hall and I went there
Before Delores could lock herself inside, which she
Often did just to piss me off.
She was watching a large screen TV in an adjacent room,
Days of Our Lives or some such shit, and didn't once
Take her eyes from the show.
Just as well, I thought, that she doesn't know what I'm doing.
I noticed she had the cat on her lap and was stroking its' head,
And that best explained my success in getting to the bathroom door.
Delores, after all, loved her pussy.
But she was the only one who gave a damn about that thing!
The framed mirror by the toilet I found newly cracked and later learned that one
Of her friends didn't like how he looked while he was trimming nose
Hairs and so hit the glass with his high school graduation ring which sported an oval
Shaped sapphire stone.  I knew this loser and couldn't believe
That he actually graduated, but educational standards over the years have
Slipped and, incredibly, the government still believed that, without exception,
no child should be left behind.
And this fellow is behind or is a behind cock sure of himself.
But Delores liked him and a couple of other guys simply because they put up with
Her furry creature and when together they'd watch television during the day.
Now she was alone, except for that purring cat, brain sucking
commercials, inane broadcasting, and a monotonous announcer's voice.
Life seemed to be in balance.  Even her wallpaper had roses and daffodils in bloom.
I wondered if I was the only person fascinated with the swirling water of a
Flushing toilet?  In which direction was it spinning?  I needed to know.
It felt really good to relieve myself without all the usual drama.

Mom, where are you going?

Remember when we were young
and i constantly ran out the back door to play?
the temperature might have been soaring
but it couldn't keep me away
from Ravic, Francis, Doug, and Joe
and all the other kids i was privileged to know.
you always seemed to stay in the house
cooking and cleaning or playing your favorite game of cards,
and i could never be bothered to come home on time,
distracting myself in each of our neighborhood backyards.
you were young and pretty and happily wed!
i never imagined you would ever be dead!!
your shining eyes deeply blue
will forever remind me of the uniqueness of you.
our last hug
so much more precious than an intricate Turkish rug.
there's nothing more from our shared decades i want to take;
i have more than enough heartache.

The Alamo, Texas

Visiting the city of San Antonio to be with an ailing mother.  I must have brought the chill northeast air along as it is cool and overcast.
My mother suffers from a cognitive impairment: Alzheimer's.

her brown eyes

Ah!  The cows.
blue on a black background
hungry bulls roaming around,
each one taking turns to make a personal visit
with an indifferent female he was about to wed.
non stopping until their appetites were fed
and the barn door closed tightly for the night.
five days later,
my favorite dog hit a terminal phase:
the vet said it was only a matter of days
and i sobbed rather noisily.
i promised to make a prayer flag for her grave
and string it by the entrance to the cave.
i will be forever haunted by her brown eyes.

Joseph Heller: "It's all fucked up."

what exactly did he mean by the phrase
CATCH-22?
from my lips directly to you:
a Willie Mays center fielder's running grab?
a discovery in the National Institute of Mental Health lab?
Joe avoided a violent military death
wrote a best selling book many years before he drew his last breath
a long, slow, measured exhale
but he got to chase the girls successfully with more than one piece of tail
his B-25, a fine airplane
coming in low and fast, weaving through heavy enemy flack totally insane
it was very sane to want to stay inside an Air Force canvas tent
crazy to fly in formation if that's what he really meant
during WWII, the thin man and the fat
the bald guy and the clown who never removed his hat
the wop and the Jew
who on Sunday morning didn't know how to act or what to do
the black aviator and the brave Mexican from San Diego
neither wanted a tag from graves registration tied to their big toe
and the freckled kid from cold Minnesota
drinking a warm coca cola
between briefings and the next flight
they all felt deep down inside their guts an incredible fright
and wondered more than once if they'd get out in one piece
to become whole again and discovered by a lover and live in peace
Yossarian.  Major Major.  CATCH-22?
it's what they did heroically and awkwardly continue to do.

the Bermuda Triangle: redo #730

Seven boxes and seven suns
Were arranged in the middle of the hallway.
Blocking me, a polite man from Asia asked me if I
Wanted to pass.  He was standing behind
A microphone, but in front of a large crowd of anxious people.
I nodded yes and he stepped aside.
As I went by he handed me a twenty dollar bill,
Then asked to see my passport.
Fortunately, it wasn't stolen or out of date.
While he looked it over,
I grabbed his mike.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," I spoke clearly above their clamor,
"These boxes are empty."
One particularly ancient woman who said her name was Helen
Shouted that she didn't believe me!
A man who introduced himself as Dan asked about the seven suns!
He said he didn't believe they were really radioactive.
What did I think? he wanted to know.
I felt the tug on my arm and saw my passport was being returned.
The polite Asian man asked for his twenty back, but I told him I had already spent it.
He threatened to hang himself with a scarf if I refused, so I gave it to him.
I picked up the first box and it was very heavy, very black, but when I looked inside
There was simply a vast ocean of nothingness.
Several people started to shout for answers, so I moved on.
The seven suns were so hot that when I used my arm as a shield, I could clearly see
My thin bones through my newly transparent skin.  When I looked around for him,
Dan was already gone, as were the other people, including the Asian man.
All the tiny hairs on my arm slowly singed.  My face burned.
Suddenly, I was very tired and alone.
Where had everyone gone? I wondered.
I fell down to my knees and crawled in the nearest box to search for signs of life.

Assisted Living

I visited an old aunt in her old room and she gave me an old smile which I tucked
Away inside my new coat pocket, before returning it to her.
Her black eyes were still purple with shades of blue and the bump above her left eye had stitches
Like little bristles found on a two day unshaven face, six of them in a jagged line sewn by a young
Doctor in a Lancaster hospital and he never asked for her name.
A cleaning woman had just left but the room was still messy.
I relocated the morning paper and sat near the small bed by a tasseled pillow.
My aunt complained, typically, about how her jaw was hurting and she didn't know
What she could do about it.  Tylenol?  She had just taken more Tylenol, she said.
She caressed her chin while she spoke.  I caressed my chin while I spoke.
She wanted to know how old I thought she looked!
I told her she looked 85 and she smiled around the facial bruises.
"I'm 89," she said matter-of-fact.  She thinks she
Has no skin wrinkles and can trick everyone into guessing she's a kid again.
All the residents and some of the staff have wrinkles, a few of which are in strange places.
I sat on her foot stool and elevated her right leg.
I tugged at her compression sock, finally removing it.
She said I was a little rough.
But then she bragged that I do the best job with her clippers and I made her promise
Never to tell anyone.  Ever.  No Matter What.
She told me she has a new neighbor, an old woman.  "Where did the former
Neighbor go"?  "He died.  But I never liked him."  "Who is the new neighbor?"
"I don't know.  She never leaves her room."  My aunt never leaves her room, either, except to
Eat.  She often skips lunch.
When I walk by the dining area during meal times, it is always full.
Most everyone visits the dining hall, and if a wheelchair or a walker is needed, so be it.  The
Food is not the important item on their menu.  Someone will see them.  In that moment, they
Are so much more than ghosts. And some of the old men can dance the Texas Two Step.
Some of the old women are incredible flirts, and they all believe I can't guess their age and I never can.
"Ouch!"  "What?"  "That hurt!" Darn, did I take some skin?
I finished the nails and struggled with the socks.  She complained I was too rough.  I said the socks are too small.  She said they're made to be small.  I said her feet appeared to be swollen.  She said they've
Always been swollen.  I asked about her jaw.  She said it was always sore.
No one seemed to notice when I left.

Tender Is the Night

Tender Is the Night,
which was brilliantly written by
F. Scott Fitzgerald,
failed to impress Gerald Murphy or his
wife, Sara, who spent her time without a book,
smiling under a beach umbrella.
she loved a great laugh, as did her husband, but did not want too much
sun or to be cross-examined about her relationship with her husband.
it was whispered he was homosexual.
Scott Fitzgerald was known to amuse himself by introducing Gerald to pretty
young men.
Gerald amused himself with pretty young men, but never once thanked Scott.
Sara was a friend of Fitzgerald's wife, who was
known to be crazy.
Zelda Fitzgerald had once overdosed on sleeping pills but they did not kill her.
an excess of alcoholic consumption did not kill her, either, but
God knows one famous summer she tried to drink everything bottled at
the Hotel du Cap, and almost succeeded.
when briefly sober, she had a blatant affair with a rookie pilot,
and often spread her wings at the local air base.
Scott would drink heavily, but he was a writer!
eventually, the couples would part ways, leaving hotel life,
and the busy Mediterranean coast for
certain mischief elsewhere.
And they could afford it!
after all, Living Well Is the Best Revenge.

"Let's stay here!"

the bare walls of my garage
should have your name hanging from the nearest hook
i haven't done a full accounting yet but when i do
i'll know what all it was you took
"Let's stay here!"
i heard you whispering into my ear.
and for awhile the winds were calm
i could reach out to you and you knew what i would do
with closed eyes while the world was mine
you especially tasted divine
but i can't hide from a hurricane
and you can't outrun your past riding on a speeding train:
young men kept coming into your studio in twos and threes
too many cocktails and sleeping pills,  "Another one please!"
and it came to an end when i opened the front door
it didn't even seem possible to reach the distant shore
but i knew i had to get away
to walk on the white sands of an innocent beach
far out to sea and out of reach
my mouth and hands and feet and eyes
no longer painted in still life disguise
the bare walls of my garage
should have your name hanging from the nearest hook
i haven't done a full accounting yet but when i do
i'll know what all it was you took
"Let's stay here!"
i heard you whispering into my ear.

Putin readjusted his tie

it's no laughing matter:
Russians are everywhere,
as crazy as the Mad Hatter
but not nearly as much fun!

at the pinnacle of his power
& capitalizing on his Olympic success,
Putin decided that very hour
it was time for his very own Gold medal.

so, he lit a big victory cigar,
took a deep Stalin-style grip 

on the bare throat 

of the Russian military machine.

he determined to make it an instant media star
inside the modern day Crimea.

he personally did not invade

(he was too preoccupied with his Italian tailors),

but his soldiers stood unmarked and masked
on the territory of Ukraine 

on a special operation,
while he choreographed their dance.

when he learned of his success,
he readjusted his tie
& readied himself for international phone calls.

as soon as he spoke the first word, it was a lie!

it's what he does for a living.

Waldman and Ginsberg

Anne, I wonder where you are?
Last I heard
You were in Colorado as an artistic writer,

Teaching especially creative writing.
It's where young people watch your every move,
Take notes.  Play notes.  Become notes.
They love being near the mountains.
I knew Allen, your very gracious friend Allen, visited several times and talked to a group of listeners.
Many in attendance would dance and sing Buddhist songs, humming in a
Spiritual way to center themselves inside the Universe.
You were much younger at that time, almost fully covered
With beads and bangles and hair.
Allen had lots of hair then, too.
He has since died, while you travel onward.
Your creative writers know the score:
They allow their thoughts often to have an
Easterly drift, to New York City.
Allen loved that city, even when it tried to beat him down.
He talked to the sidewalks with his feet and used his eyes to scrub

The worldly windshield.

His heart was open as he spoke, driven with inspiration.
I can sometimes hear him call your name!
I wonder why you don't write him more often?

lentil soup

Andy told me what i needed to know

but when i tried to read his map,

i still couldn't go.

alcohol and drugs:

under the bed and under the rugs,

sent over by my own doctor

who left me for dead;

in my body and inside my head,

i opened the front door to

hear what he said.

i had an old mother

who came to my side:

"Remember when you were younger

and took a fine bride?"

but there was a chill in the air

so i ran out the door;

everyone kept crying

we'd soon be at war.

i stopped at the clinic.

God gave me a drink;

he was off to a funeral.

i went there to think:

there were scars on my face

and one near my heart.

i was a spy for the Gestapo,

but needed a new start.

i made lentil soup at four

with vegetable broth and ham

and served it to Rene

who knows just who i am!
a wizard at mathematics,

he tried his hand at dance.

i left him at communion

and took my cross into France
where i made a few sketches,
played some guitar,
and reached up for the moon
which didn't seem too far.

high fever and beads of tiny sweat

for better or worse
i rolled down my window and gave you a smoke
i thought i heard an answer
but perhaps you misspoke
i poured a Merlot into your glass
about half full
it was a perfect summer
to sit by the neighboring pool
your body was black
well burnt by the sun
i offered you bog-myrtle
but you wouldn't have none
you noticed the bamboo
which grew near the creek
i watched you start standing
and offered my seat
your head gave way to a pillow
your ass on the floor
the coffee was empty
i offered you more
without cream or white sugar
i used an old French press
you wore a man's baggy pants
i wore a woman's dress
in a high fever
and beads of tiny sweat
i couldn't stay away
we had just recently met
and sat on the stairway
welcomed the dawn.
i woke up when i heard
you stifle a yawn.
you reached for a cigarette
tasteless and grey;
nearby a piano
continued to play.