Just Do Your Job

 

a politician did what’s right

I watched it on the news tonight

they raised him to a hero’s height

for doing what he had agreed

a book about it he did write

to try and satisfy his greed

a book we really didn’t need

a book nobody wants to read

“integrity” is the book’s theme

and how he’s standing by his creed

things aren’t always what they seem

living the American dream

a soaring figure, watch him gleam

much like a brightly rising star

if you ask me it’s just a scheme

the whole damn thing is so bazaar

that they would take it quite this far

 just how low can they set the bar?

a politician did what’s right

I guess that’s just the way things are

Left Handed Shotgun

 

a left-handed shotgun

a twelve gauge

a Brownington

or maybe a Remington

I don’t remember

 

a beautiful gun

a gift from his grandfather

for his Sixteenth birthday

 

a high school friend of my son

he told me he had been hunting grouse in the area

and asked if he could leave the gun at my house

because he couldn’t take it where he was going

and he didn’t want to keep it in his truck

 

months went by

and he never returned

to retrieve the gun

 

I wasn’t sure how to get ahold of him

and hadn’t heard anything about him

until I read his obituary

another tragic overdose

 

within the obituary

I found his mother’s name

she was living in a nearby town

 

a few weeks later I brought the gun to her

she said she had never seen it before

and that his grandfather

died when he was twelve years old

she said he had been involved

in a lot of questionable things in the past several months

and maybe I should get rid of the gun

 

it is a beautiful gun

at the bottom of a deep lake

Little Reminders

 

tiny fingerprints

on the kitchen window

I notice them a few times a day

I grab a paper towel to wipe them away

but I just can’t seem to do it

 

they remind me

of just how excited she was

looking out

at the first few flakes of snow coming down

 

so, I will leave them there

until her next visit

to grandpa’s house

when she will leave other little reminders

of the awe of viewing the world

through innocent eyes

Pavlov’s Phone (Hutain)

 

instinctively you grab your phone

when you hear that distinctive ring

don’t worry you are not alone

it’s called “classic conditioning”

and yes, it is a real thing

pick up the phone and don’t ask why

just mindlessly reach for that ring

reacting to a stimuli

Unsolved Crime (Ballade)

 

he disappeared without a trace

his friends knew nothing but heartache

they tried to handle it with grace

but some things they just couldn’t fake

while the anger made them shake

as anxiety level climbs

only intensifies the ache

that's how it goes with unsolved crimes

 

his car displayed in a public place

a scene they’re trying to remake

a poster with his name and face

with flyers there for folks to take

a dormant memory to awake? 

and as a distant church bell chimes

his memory they will not forsake

that's how it goes with unsolved crimes

 

leads come in at a snail’s pace

some years later they catch a break

a jailhouse tip about the case

“in a trailer sunk below the lake”

 not wanting to make a mistake

they searched the bottom  many times

their reputation was at stake

that's how it goes with unsolved crimes

 

no conclusions could they make

I check the “cold case” list sometimes

it’s been decades for heaven’s sake

that's how it goes with unsolved crimes

Home Town

 

I grew up in one of those towns

where both sides of the track were the wrong side.

It was a place of indecision

where the river flowed in both directions.

Every street was a one way street

even the dead ends.

A place where failure was always an option,

in fact it was the most likely outcome.

There were no winners here

just boarded up storefronts and abandoned factories.

We climbed through holes in chain link fences

and dared each other to ascend the piles

of dangerous leftovers from discarded American dreams.

Tall, dark, concrete buildings

with randomly placed holes in the floors

that vent shafts or steam pipes once occupied. 

We rode our bikes through vacant gravel lots

long before the government had labeled them

“Superfund Sites.”

The older kids taught the younger ones

how to play with matches without getting burned.

There was little left to ignite however,

anything that would burn had already been incinerated long ago.

 

Needlepoint and Other Secrets

She liked drinking beer

and she loved to swear.

She could be nasty to strangers

when she’d had a few too many.

Hell, she could be nasty to her friends

when she’d had a few too many.

She liked staying up late and would party with the boys

and she wasn’t above peeing in the woods.

She never asked for help with anything

and she wanted everyone to know she was tough.

 

After not seeing her around for a couple of days

I stopped by her apartment one morning

with a couple cups of coffee.

She reluctantly opened the door and let me in.

I could see she had been crying

and there was a half-finished needlepoint on the kitchen table.

There were several other completed pieces

on a chair next to the table.

“Did you make these?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied “and if you tell anyone I will kill you.”    

Staring At The Night Sky

At first the stars are few and dim

but as my eyes adjust

they continue to increase

in number and brightness.

Some twinkle every now and then

as not to be forgotten.

With no moon to steal the show,

nothing to outshine them

they compete for my attention.

My patience may be rewarded

with the sighting of a meteor.

I stand outside

sometimes for hours

feeling smaller and smaller

the longer I stare into the night sky.

Not just feeling inconsequential

about myself but for all mankind

and all the so called “achievements” we have made.

I stare until I feel insignificant

enough to go back inside

and crawl under a blanket and go to sleep. 

Reflections

an old man lives in my mirror

I see him a few times a day

his wrinkles remind me

of the passing of time.

I have watched his hair turn gray

and his eyes look weary

but sometimes wise

though I often feel I’m viewing them

through a younger man’s vision,

at least that’s what I tell myself.

Sometimes he looks sad

as if he’s remembering better days

or thinking about someone he has lost.

He looks tired today

but I have to leave him standing there

as I have things to do. 

The Truth About Roses (Hutain)

I see the roses in full bloom

though the garden’s been neglected

so I no longer can assume

roses need to be protected

left alone yet still perfected

and the flowers turned out fine

their resilience is respected

although the garden’s in decline 

Before

 

Before we all knew what an N95 was

and a mask was something we wore on Halloween.

Before the restaurants closed their doors

and left the food at the curbside

to be scooped  up by hungry customers.

Before the kitchen table was turned into a classroom

and the teacher, the lunch lady and the janitor

were all the same person. 

Before the cashier was stationed behind Plexiglas

and we waited six feet apart standing

on a line of tape that had been stuck to the floor

to buy a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread.

Before the National Guard took over the school parking lots

placing boxes of food in the back of any car

whose driver wanted to wait in line.

Before the supply chain had broken it’s links

and we started counting on UPS and FedEx

to bring us everything from snow tires to underwear.