POEM - Breakfast Date

I didn't make work a priority

On a day I probably should have

But it was pay day morning

After a long dry spell

With too many bills

And no liquid assets

And I just needed

       We both just needed

A breakfast date

To help us face the day

Help us know the feeling

Of a little freedom

And a little time without kids

And you know how much we both love

The way they play 80s music

In the corner booth

So out of place

In this small country town

Where the old men congregate

Over biscuits and gravy

And a senior coffee with free refills

To speak in accents 

Only they can understand

Somehow it makes "Purple Rain" 

An even better song

Makes us smile and smirk

Eating our chicken biscuits

Sucking down diet cola

Watching the dawn change the world

My Indian Friends

The programmer from Bangalore

Who flew to Cali every year 

And always went back through Qatar

Because his parents worked for the government

Was a good omen

He was kind and informative 

And slept for 12 of the 14 hours 

From Dallas to Doha

I had to wake him up

He missed breakfast

But he would see family soon

In DOH it was clean and new 

I got to wait in the business lounge

Much nicer than the one in DFW

And much lonelier

But I was on my way soon

To see my Indian friends

The ones I had spoken to

Every other week

For several months

Only they didn't know I was scared

I was coming alone

And I had picked the wrong hotel

And I hoped Babu would be at the airport

Cause I wouldn't know how to say

Take me to the Ramada

It is on an island

In the backwater

Close to the ocean

At least I think it is

My new friends think I'm the boss

That I know what I am doing

And they are afraid I am as American as I look

So they play it safe

Take me to the normal restaurants

Avoid the real food

The stuff they eat every day

Until the third day

But they still hedge their bets

Anoop is hesitant

Even as we are paying

He shows me how to get the big metal tray

Fill it with rice

Scoop on the different curries

Get a cup for the curd

Get a cup for the sauce

Grab a salt cured chili

And two Dixie cups of dessert

Head to the table

And dig in with our hands

He brings utensils the first day

And the second

Before he doesn't bother

Before he sees I love it

Almost as much as he does

We finish all smiles

And Anoop bobbles his head

In encouragement

In the Karala way

POEM - Omelette Set to Stun

I've written about eggs

Often and fondly

The crack and the sizzle and the yum

Or the cool and smooth

Of hard-boiled perfection

But they can be so much more

With a little imagination

Perspiration and creation

As onions and tomatoes

Spinach and cheese

Grill in the buttery slosh

Covered in salt and jalapenos

Heating up and mixing

In delightfully indecent ways

From where I stand

I inhale

Breathe deep 

As I beat the vicious circular rhythm

Of fork against the porcelain bowl

Torturing the slimy insides

Of the shells that lay shattered in the trash

Unblinkingly I continue

Soaked in the delightful aroma

Then it is time

To release the yellow sea

Of protein rich fluids

To engulf the savory stew

Sweating it out in their cast iron prison

I only can release them

Once they emerge 

Coated in a delightful robe

All are transfigured

Beyond the sum 

Of such disparate parts

A greater new creature

Arises from the fires

A delicious phoenix

Named omelette

POEM - Hard to be Good in Church

I come from an old school

And a history seeped in religion

My culture is less

Country of origin

Than it is 

Church of membership

I've been here all along

Just like my father 

And his father 

And his father

And maybe a few more

And it gets hard to be good

I'm not implying any mortal sin

It just gets hard to behave

In an acceptable way

One would expect

A middle-aged

Father of five

To behave

Sequestered 

In the pews

As I am

And organ music triggers this odd response

A desire to succumb

To a power supreme

That encourages me

Forcibly

To nod my head

But I have gotten better about it

Barely ever drool anymore

But I have to do something

And I have to distract my youngest

Or he'll kick and squirm

And drive someone crazy

And isn't it cool

All the weird designs

The gum makes 

That I squished between the folds of the program

And then gently pulled back apart

I know church is not the place

For artistic experiment

But it looks so cool

And he is entertained

And my head hasn't nodded once

POEM - The Alien Abroad

Everyone feels the need 

To warn you

How bad it might be

But it wasn't bad

Or maybe I just didn't notice

It is trying to shove the world

Into a box shaped like where you are from

That makes it bad

Because if they tried to make it work

Tried to shove my life

Into a box they could understand

Things would spill out

I opted to adapt

I the alien in the room

The stranger here

I'm the one doing it wrong

Not the billion other people around me

Even if I don't like it

Even if it seems odd

Their normal is right 

Right now

So the trip was wonderful

And I was the outsider

I was the anomalie

And I liked it

And nothing was the same

Different air in my lungs

Different water in the sea

Even things with the same name

Were different

Even me with the same name

Is different

POEM - Billy is to Blame

The reason I am this way

Has a lot to do

With the fact of Billy Bragg

The fact that Fletcher opened my eyes

And when he talks and sings

About "There is power in a union!"

How could I not think it was true

And Bragg is infectious 

Ringing into your consciousness

The feedback buzzes into your spine

As the hair stands on end

And he celebrates our Democracy

Becries our faillings 

And let's us know

The USA is awful big

And as goes the US so goes the world

I feel responsible

Inhaling a fight song

Digging with the diggers

Dressing like the Communists

Worshipping Woody

Fascists beware

The milk of Human Kindness

Will make us all a little better

POEM - Delays

It was hard not to run up to the podium

Jump on the offer

Change my flight

Get shuttled to another airport

Pocket the $500 voucher

And see where it all got me

But I know it would end badly

I would miss the connection

And a connection to Qatar

Is a connection you don't miss

So I sit

As they beg over the PA

"Just a few more"

"It's a great deal"

"We have another flight ready in CLT"

No

Sorry

I'll just sit here

Awkwardly stubborn

Longing to give in

POEM - Typhoid, Malaria and Curry

On the third day

Having fitfully endured the night

I no longer wondered what was happening

"It's the darn medicine" I mumbled

If it is this bad preventing typhoid

Just imagine what getting it must be like

And I was grateful

But not happy

That modern medicine could help me out

In a most unpleasant way

Maybe I should've just taken the shot

Sure it wasn't as effective

But the morning me didn't care

"I'm too old for this" 

Another mumbled thought

But I retracted that statement

Just as soon as I could

Because I wanted this

Or rather

I want the reason for it

A trip to India

Land of the bhut jolokia

And curry infinitum

And a big fancy visa

In my passport 

Obtained very late in life

This is making up for lost time

This is an experience

This is enjoying all of the little nuances

Good and bad

In sickness and in health

Till milaria do we part

POEM - The Smoke as Falls

From this height

The billowing smoke

From an enormous fire

Doesn't billow

Instead

The smoke

Looks like a waterfall of clouds

Splashing into the ground

Covering the landscape

In mist and spray

I am sure this is insensitive

An unseen

And unwanted observation

A thought too soon for now

But I am detached

Trapped on this floating tour bus

And beyond the multi-paned oval

The falls

Of smoke

Look nice

POEM - Eagles Don’t Always Soar

It didn’t seem like he’d ever get it done

Probably the same thing my parents thought

As months turned into years

And the stupid write up

Sat and sat and then

Finally

Completion

Youth is a lousy project manager

Never holds conference calls

Always behind on Gantt chart updates

Doesn’t do the math right

So the percentages are always off

Never does a sanity check

To verify outliers

In the reported data

But Six Sigma

Still isn’t a merit badge.

So really what can you say

When the poor Boy Scout

Trying to be organized

And remember what he did

And improve society

Isn’t  conforming  

To industry standards?

He was never trained

And his parents forget too

And only can think to pray

And beg, threaten, connive, and bargain

Until exhaustion or tears

Require rescheduling

Of additional follow-up meetings

To hash out the details

Create a cohesive plan

Strive for synergy

And finish the dang Eagle already!

POEM - Push

On cloud 9

Our wedding day

We thought we floated

On wings of angels

But we landed

It turns out

At the bottom

Of an eternal mountain

Pushing boulders

In case you wondered

The boulders multiply

They are called children

And work

And responsibility

And goals

And who cares what they are called

Today

I feel good

Pushed one boulder

Until it wore down

And disappeared

I can see another

Is nearly worn down too

And some of the children

Are starting to push their own boulders

Carry their own weight

Pile on goals

And chores

And work

And all of it

And there are lots of us

Pushing boulders up mountains

And it is hard work

And it is a nice thing

When someone with a few less boulders left

Nudges from behind

And I remember to remember

It will be my turn

One day soon

To nudge and struggle

And help another

Push

And Push

And on they roll

POEM - Reciprocity

I hadn’t planned

To frustrate you

Guessing

As I did

At each plan

Each design

That you

In a stroke of brilliance

Consigned

In quick scribbles

To the back of your list

It is

When lovers

For uncountable days

Have

In many cases

Put heads together

Solved the mysteries

Met the challenges

The way

And I ask

Out of sincerity

Not fear

Acceptance

Of this

My humble proffering

A sacrifice

Of scribbles

From my own hand

Now consigned

Nonchalantly

To ignominious

Anonymity

POEM - The Cause

My email screams to me

Begs and pleads for my essential support

Only I can stop the evil

My three dollar pledge

Will move mountains

Slay the Goliath with whom we battle

Trip up Citizens United

Make the political game fair

Meh . . .

Those guys have tons of money

I know. I just read the list.

The Forbes 400 richest

They are number five and six

My number on the list can’t be calculated

Negative net worth isn’t considered

Can’t even afford the magazine

Had to look it up on-line

But the emails keep coming

And my 3 dollars from 2 years ago

Bought me fifteen emails a day

Personal requests from previous Poet Laureates

Past and current presidents

Party leaders and assorted dignitaries

And concerned citizens alike

But, I mean, those other guys

Their totally loaded

And they still lost

I think I’ll keep my 3 dollars

And just give my 2 cents

POEM - The Saddle

My soft brain

Has been bucking and stamping

Against the side of my thick skull

Hoping for a way out

As I dull it daily

With spreadsheet detritus

Meager fare for thought fuel

Even the dullest men

Cherish intermittent absurdity

Privately perhaps

But the waffles of secrecy

Crave emergence

From fathomless leagues

Of thick maple-butter seas

And will pop

Metaphorically

From the inner toaster sanctum

Bite the hot bread of defiance!

Bite it!

Climb into the saddle

Ride that pale horse

Whose haunches sag with indifference

Only the pain will cure it

Only denying the buck

That tossed you

Unceremoniously earthward

Will burst the rusted mush of cerebral dormancy

And the best waffles never bend

Beneath the deluge

Of the syrupy onslaught

POEM - Cupcake Ritual

The ragged paper wrapper

Dejectedly resting in my hand

Once embraced

In a protective shield

A diminutive cake

Delicious and inviting

This wrapper

That I hold a little too long

Carried the contents

From batter to bake

Caressed and carried

In a meaningful shared experience

I hold this wrapper

Gently in my cupping grasp

Waiting for that moment

When other eyes are distracted

When I invert the wrapper

Inside out

Greedily and stealthily

Popping it in my mouth

I chew the wrapper

Squeezing the last sweet essence

The delectable remnants

Of a once present cupcake

That now is no longer

My eyelids have wandered shut

As I savor and indulge

But I can sense other eyes

I was not as careful as I thought

The wrapper sits motionless

Mid chew

As I flounder for an explanation

She speaks first

In a conspiratorial whisper

                “I’m glad to see

                                I’m not the only one”

She says with a smile

Revealing in her light clutch

An inverted wrapper of her own

Joyfully she joins

In the sweet ritual

POEM - Summer Dilemma

Lazily the conversation

Meanders around the point

As you search

For a reason to cook

Where is the potato salad

And the holiday leftovers

That won’t heat up the house

That might prolong the reclining moment?

If it was just us we’d wait

Let the humid moments pass

But these darn kids

Are not as patient

Complaining of a hunger

More based in boredom

Than actual starvation

The message you send is desperate

            “Why don’t we have any good food in this house?”

I know that good really means easy

            “Maria gave us a box of corn

                        We have lots of corn!”

“Well, cook some up - the kids love it

Maybe ruin it with butter and salt, like in the old days

Or worse, with margarine

Like we were raised in the 70s!”

You let me know they had corn for breakfast

Such silly little reprobates

            “I am eating boiled peanut” you relate

                        “I am ashamed” is your confession

I laugh in text

            “Hahaha, you are Southern now! Sorry!”

But it isn’t a joke

There is watermelon in the fridge

Fried chicken for dinner

A farm outside our door

And overalls in my closet

And you just told me Maria’s trailer is “nice”

And I wonder when it happened

But summer is too hot

For anything so deep

And I’m jealous of corn for breakfast

And I was hoping

            To snack on those boiled peanuts

Cool and moist

            Waiting in the refrigerator door

POEM - Hard-Boiled

Crack!

The porcelain shell forms fissures

Surface tension broken, distractedly

I roll the oblong orb around my desk

Midway through recalling

The conversation I had just had

With myself

Planning my culinary day

“The eggs will be saved for lunch,

                Cut up in chicken broth for soup.”

I forgot because I picked up the blanched stone

Cool and comfortable

Crack!

There is nothing like the satisfaction

Of a perfectly boiled egg

Tempered in the rolling water

Where the shell almost leaps away

At the slightest provocation

Leaving the soft cloud white ball

That embraces the golden treasure

Crack!

Forgive me

For my premature advances

You thought you had time

To relax in the refrigerator compartment

Before being ejected

Noisily

From your perfect womb

I just love your sound

Crack!

POEM - Roach Space

A hole has formed

In the hermetic seal

This modern office boasts

And the cockroaches have noticed

All the way up they climb

To the second floor

Just to make a point

And on three consecutive days

The hallway has been accented

By the lone kamikaze

The message in sacrificial form

Reminding all of the voracity

Each and every element

Of the collective infestation

Possesses

We are not born to conquer

There is no permanence in humanity

We are born as squatters

Our space on loan

A temporary condition

As the architecture crumbles

Weeds and vines engulf

Always lurking and scurrying

Just under the exterior

Are the walls filled to bursting

With roaches bent on domination

Imbued with the patient knowledge

They are indestructible and un-vanquish-able

Like Time

Or an Hydra

POEM - Borrowed Smile

Sitting here

Feeling the years

When

We'd sit here

Side by side

And talk the twilight away

When the winter

Never chilled

And we laughed

In easy ways

When we could just be

Now I sit

Alone

As the sun washes out

Into the darkness

And the laughs echo

Almost gone

But I keep a smile

Borrowed from  you

From the times

When a smile

Was all we owned

POEM - Chops [Jazz Writing 005]

The dance floor

Crowded

In the tiny town

Local high school

Showing off their jazz band

It was crowded like no one’s business

The closing song

A final farewell

To departing members

And that band was hopping

And that country kid

Plays that sax

Like he was born

Attached to it

In NYC

Where electric air

Filled his lungs

Brought through the window

Heavy and powerful

From the clubs of Harlem

Everyone gets sucked in

Bobbing their heads

Clapping along

Awash

In the joyous noise