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PLAYLIST
I realize now justhow old I have gotten,no laughing any longer at the old men alwaystucking pills into a sorterneatly marked by day and time, for I now do my ownweekly, the number of pillsseeming to propogate by month. I suppose it is timeto begin working in earneston the playlist for my funeral. I’ll be…
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ABSOLUTION
The birds in the wetlandspeak to me in my dreams,telling tales of what this placewas before we arrivedand forever changed it. They don’t curse us, althoughthey remind us we are cursedby our own actions, butthey do pity us, ground boundliving in our own waste. In the morning the birdshave disappeared, a fewvultures carrying off the…
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UNDERTAKER
Two turkey vulturessit on the branchesof a barrenwetland tree,looking down. We stare at them,not wantingto think aboutwhat they stare at,for we understandturkey vultures. They are soonchased off byboat-tailed grackleswho we thankfor releasing usfrom the funeral.
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PANDEMIC
How many today? Fewerthat is a good signbut don’t get overly excited,we’ve been down this roadbefore and we got losteach time we did. And while you are out there,don’t be sure that youcan see where you are going,for vision is iffy, and likeside view mirrors, thingsappear closer than they are. Don’t be despondent, youare better…
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NEVER, STILL
I know what you did not tell them,that much I could learn for myself,but what did you tell them? I knowyou were full figured, I think thatis the acceptable term, once it wasReubenesque, but someonemust have noticed something. Maybe those at work, sitting at theirterminals didn’t notice, you cameand went, few friendships perhaps,but you were…
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STATISTIC
Today, now many,yesterday, tomorrow, how many? We have grown tired of countingthe mind cannot deal with numbersof that magnitude, Stalin was correct,it is all statistics now, and bodies,always more bodies, never enough,always too many, by violencein the street, in the economy,in the courthouse, in the COVID ward,there are too many places now,where the dead gather,…
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FOSSIL FUEL
It should give you pauseto consider that, in the midstof boundless greed, enmeshedin the near cult of self, rushingalways to go nowhere quickly,certain the problems of the world,can be solved tomorrow, usingresources that may never bereplenished or substituted for, when we are dead and buried,we will be the fossil fuelsthat future generationsrightfully shun in horror.
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THE FIRE THIS TIME
He said he did not want a funeral, certainly did not want to be buried. It would be a waste of wood and metal, and its only purpose would be to enrich the mortician and it is not like he will run out of customers any time in the near future. Not, at least, until…
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GREATLY EXAGERATED
Many now say the age of great literaturehas died, the mortal woiund inflictedby the advent of the self-correctingIBM Selecric typewriter, when wordsbcame evanescent, as suddenly goneas when they spilled onto the page. Others, I count myself among them,believe the wound was not fatal,deep certainly, but yet there remainsa faint pulse, ressuscitation possiblewith the application of…
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STONE
Just outside townin the old dump isa slab of concreteits twisted edges piercedby rusting rebaronce the floorof the gazebo in the commons.Etched into its surfaceJim + MarieJanet Loves Eddie.Their loves were undyingcast into stone to wearslowly through the agesnot to fall victimto the jackhammer.Jim lies underthe simple stone“Sgt. U. S. ArmyServed Vietnam,”Marie left for collegebut…
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an old writer and his words 