Mister whiskers jumps up in my lap
Does everything but hand me the comb
Ah, now it’s time!
A mutual love-in.
We both take pleasure from this ritual.
He, with his whirring motor running
and his dribbling drool
as I do the mandatory stroking.
His inner lids half closed in nirvana.
He turns to face me so I can get to more places,
when oops! wrong place.
He strikes with the swiftness of a cobra,
and I have a bloody nose now.
Little bastard.
15 things not to say to someone with a chronic condition
THIS.
Chronic pain and disease are not just pain or sickness.
It is frustration, sadness, anger, anxiety, emptiness, and loneliness. It is wondering how on earth you will make it through, and if you can cope with this forever. It is wondering how you can pay the bills, buy your medications, and visit the doctors, while still putting food on the table for your family. It is missing your life, the one you had before you got this sick and being scared of the future.
Surviving with chronic pain, or illness means that each morning when you get up (if you can get up) you face the day with uncertainty and fear. You try to put a smile on your face and cope the best you can, but often failing.
Those of us who have this battle withstand so much mockery and blame from others, there is so much misunderstanding and…
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Man seeks tiny dancer
there’s a fella, sleeps alone
reasons known to self and another
the wick of his wishes is burning low
getting down to the orange tipped embers
(could that be the hottest part?)
looking for that bright smile, dark eyes
that Christmas spirit all the year
he wanders around the king size bed
runs from the galloping ghosts of midnight
awakes at three for his second pee
with a smile on his face
’cause he’s dreamt an angel’s soul
and his spirit arms, they hold it close
bodies entwined, sweet soothing
that freckled face, those Bambi eyes
more tightly he grasps, bestowing a kiss
but his mouth is of cotton
or is it her lips?
it’s that big body pillow
from the head of his bed
with its teddy bear stuffing
he’s holding, instead.
Mary, Mary, quite contrary
Mary has three sisters, a brother, and a dead mother. They are all going, or have gone, the way of the world in this forlorn village. The safe, quiet, accepted, expected, respected way.
The men, to the sea in ships. The women, to the upbringing of the family, the keeping of the house, the cloistered social circuit of the dull and the drudge. The desperate heartbreak of stillborn babies, without knowing why. Mama went at the young age of sixty two, her poor body wracked with toil, worry, and the monotonous diet of the place. Her father, last year, from consumption.
Mary, coming now into age, sits in the pews with her village confederates for the quiet ceremony. The mourners are women, girls, and three or four sick old men. All that is heard is the weeping of the older women, close friends and helpers to her mother. Mary’s siblings sit in sullen silence. She’s not the oldest. There is one sister who is ten years her senior, but that sister already wears the kerchief and faded dresses of the crestfallen, following the anointed path.
The little ones would not approach the crude coffin, but the rest did, and dropped their flowers or cold kisses. Mary has not risen from her bench yet, and many eyes are turned her way in expectation. She is the strong willed one, rebellious but never shirking. She came this day, leading the younger ones to their seats. She alone came dressed in bright blue, an affront to the many, almost a sin in this solemnity. But she knew her Mama would have smiled.
She rises purposefully and goes to her mother, hangs her head in remorse by the coffin. Sees the life planned out for her. The drab houses, the dead babies, the absent menfolk. And then, her moment of epiphany. Mother, we are going. I will take them, any who will go with me. Mother, this has not been enough for you, and it will not be enough for us. I cannot do it. I cannot stay. I have seen all of your faces in my eighteen years. The duty bound stinginess of joy. We are digging our own graves. I am growing. I have grown inside as you wanted me to. I have outgrown this life. Sister, I will come back for you if you will not go now.
XXX
there’s a stirring in the wrinkled prunes
not pitted yet, they engender,
in sleepy spring nights,
a furnace of fuel for that Rocket Man
that Pied Piper Pilot
always known as Randy.
The bluebird of happiness
Little things that brought a bubble of joy to me in the last few days
When you’re sick and you do things kind of half assed just to get by, then you realize that the way you did them before was more than enough.
When you are still sick, and the wife looks in on you and says stay in bed dear, I will walk to work this morning. Yessss.
When you are doing the monthly budget, and you suddenly realize that you have paid a bill for $200 twice.
When you are a coffee snob, and you will only buy a certain brand which happens to be $18 a bag, and then you find out they have it on sale for half price.
You have had your computer for a few years and you think it is getting a little decrepit. You phone your computer guy and ask how much new ones are. He says you know what just bring it in. Maybe just needs a good cleaning and files fixed up a little.
You realize that for some unaccountable reason you have a not so secret admirer who happens to be 40 years younger than you.
You wake up, anxiously thinking you are late for work. Until you realize you are retired.
You visit your sick daughter, make her a pot of chicken soup, and she says ,as you are leaving, text me when you get home.
You realize for some reason you have a secret admirer who happens to be 40 years younger than you. Wait a minute…… I already said that.
Spring snow
Peculiar kinds of snow today.
No wind. Dead calm.
Four degrees below freezing.
I was out for a little walk.
It began with tiny white pellets,
not much bigger than mustard seeds.
They behaved kind of like those little white beads of Styrofoam
that stick to you when you when you take your new TV out of the box,
only the opposite in physics.
They bounced off the dark green of my nylon coat, showering back upwards.
Then, a few minutes’ pause, as I made perfect black footprints
in the whitened sidewalks.
Next, I felt the tingling on my nose, chin, and eyelashes as I looked up
at the flaky white dust descending.
Flakes so fine that gravity had little effect upon them.
They tumbled, dancing across and seeming to hang motionless before settling.
At last came the heavy artillery.
Communities of the sparkling travelers were binding together
to form wide, saucer-like flakes, spinning in a gradual descent
looking, for all the world, like those helicopter maple seeds
that would soon come to the neighborhood,
spiraling down to clog our pristine eaves troughs
with the sediment of spring.
Captivating
In a small, crowded, noisy bar, on a winter’s night, he’s surrounded by family and friends. There’s a dislike for the setting: Having to shout to be heard at your own table, the inevitable loud or belligerent drunks, the tiny bathroom always occupied. He stays anyway, because the band is partly family too.
Gradually, unknowingly, he starts to tune out of the forced conversations, and even the band’s attempts to be heard. They are good players, he knows, and he likes the music. He identifies with them, and sees them trying to balance the desire to be heard, and yet be savvy enough not to overpower. They have spent many hours on practice for this night.
The occasional tug from his wife brings him back to the table chatter, and, apologetically, he rejoins the shouting. After a time, he slips back into reverie, and notices that no one is up dancing, save for a solitary figure in a dimly lit corner by the window. It is a girl, probably just of drinking age. Not beautiful or showy, dressed in a sweater and jeans. She is holding her glass of beer, has her eyes closed, and is smiling. It’s a slow quiet number that’s playing, and she sways in one spot, her face upraised to the light. Seemingly, she is ignored by everyone but himself. He is drawn to the simplicity and soulfulness of this dancer, and wonders if she came here by herself, or, if not, why there is scant reaction from those around her. She stays for song after song, nursing that single glass of beer. Just captivating.
Once again, he’s brought out of trance by his tablemates. Gets a couple of annoyed glances and some queries as to why he is watching “that drunk girl”. He does not think of her that way, and realizes with a start that he has been absent from the table talk for nigh onto half an hour. In a while, he begs off for the evening, and he and his wife make their way home.
In their hour long trip, he thinks of nothing, other than what he has seen tonight. Even months later, the image still visits him.
Captivated.
Flaps of skin
Once I helped a buddy. He had a little farm. A makeshift pigpen with metal fencing.
I was mucking it out one day, and I saw that one of the bigger hogs had an “L” shaped laceration on its side. No blood. Just a six inch flap of skin hanging down. Must have caught himself on one of the pieces of corrugated tin. My buddy looked and said “he doesn’t feel it”. I doubted that. Then he said, to the hog, “that’s it, you’re going for sausage.”
I have a habit, a nervous habit I guess. Something akin to biting the fingernails.
You know when your lips get dry, and a little cracked maybe, and perhaps you might grab onto one of those little pieces of dead skin, with your teeth, and maybe pull a little?
Maybe? Well, I pulled a little too hard one time, and a pretty good chunk of flesh came out with it. I tasted the salty blood running down my chin. Wife said what happened.
Just never mind.
That hurt. But, you know, I have done it again. And again.
I’ve been to the dentist enough times to learn. They stick those needles in, and say
“now, remember not to chew or eat anything hot until the freezing comes out”. I am waiting for them to give me a lollipop too. Of course, I forget, or choose to disregard, such good advice. Well, I chewed a little bit one time. I was hungry, and I suppose I chewed some more too. Peeled some skin off the cheek meat. Wife said what happened. Oh oh. That clumsy tongue must have gotten in the way, too. The salty blood again.
Never mind.
I got a sickness one time. A cancer of the spirit. Wounds and flaps of skin hanging from my inside. They rescued me with talk and strong drugs. Then, you know, I couldn’t feel anything, really. It’s better than bleeding out, right? But, I digress. They did save me, yes they did. Now, the freezing’s coming out. Some of those cut out flaps are still hanging, but they’re starting to scab over. I do think.
No more band aids for now.
Ships that pass in the night (reprise)
and so I write this
not out of vanity, I hope
for really, I am but an old man
by government standards
but to say
how you affect me
and to wonder what you see
when you look at me
and why you do what you do
I have been in this town
since before your birth
and have lived many years before that
you started work as a young girl of sixteen
in that store where I shop
and now you are twenty two
with a child of your own
and an absent father, you’re high and dry
funny, I thought you didn’t like me
because you never spoke when I passed by
all of those six years
rather, you turned away
but, at Christmas, I had some business to do there
and you helped me
I said Merry Christmas and turned to go
but you overtook me, looked up smiling
and hugged me tightly
I knew not what to do, and blushingly walked away
weeks into the new year, I felt I should say something
so, haltingly, I said you had made my day
on Christmas Eve, with that unexpected hug,
so you gave me another, then ran to the back room
do I mean something to you?
did our souls meet, perhaps, in another life?
I do not know what to say to you
except to make small talk
how’s the baby?
how’s your toothache?
are you working hard, or hardly working?
but you still smile, and give a squeeze once in a while
I wonder about your life, and what it’s like
single, on your own, small child, crummy job
but I would never ask inappropriate questions
in an inappropriate place
and so, we just pass each other
and if you fancy, we chat
and sometimes you look about
before you bestow that secret hug
to make this old guy’s day
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
and so, today, I walk by an aisle
you are there, in your old man’s sweater
stocking shelves, or some such
and, of course, you jump up, smile,
give more hugs
so I say, hey you will get yourself in trouble
fraternizing with the customers, eh?
I ask you about your little girl
and you look a bit sad
so I say what’s the matter
and you say she is two years old now
and she is growing too fast
I say what do you mean
and you say I would like her to stay small
’cause all I want to do is cuddle her.
Aremyfeetofftheground 