POEMS - Holidays in Summer

From May to June I would dread
Any holiday morning
For most of my youth
A holiday meant dad was home
And if that day wasn't Sunday
It meant dad was in the yard
And if dad was in the yard, well
That meant the rest of us would be soon
And didn't he know it was our day off too
That this junk was for Saturdays
This was a Wednesday for cripes sake!
Holidays on Wednesdays are bonus time
Sleeping in
Being lazy
Eating junk food
Going to the movies
Swimming and more swimming
And not just cooling off in the pool
After mowing the backyard
Head first
Fully clothed
Like my lunatic father would
Like he enjoyed it
As if this was fun for him
I guess he believed he did like it
He seemed always willing
To sacrifice our holidays
In pursuit of his bad habit
Tackling one horrific project after another
Bathing in summer sweat
Conducting the gas powered symphonies
Of roaring yard machines
Smiling for most of it
Crazy old man
Probably suffering from heat stroke
Someone should get him some ice water

POEM: Juarez is Again

I was only introduced
To Juarez
After the violent past
When only the wounds remained
Deep scars
Already beginning to heal

It was a controlled encounter
Set rules
Restricted movements
My first treading
On foreign soil

The next visit my heart opened
Juarez was again
The traumatic left behind
As it has been many times
This people do not
Let a little war ruin things
Let a little corruption make them cynical
Let destruction be permanent
They rise up
Put things back together
Clean up the overturned tables
Start the ovens
Hang a sign over the door
And serve up the salsa and chips

This time I watch the flag furl
Red, white and green
Blown by the wind
Big enough to cover a stadium
Or the brightly lit star
That shines from the hills of El Paso
As if in answer
Proclaiming the pride of a people
This time I walk through the streets
Break bread at her tables
Breathe the air recently forbidden
Walk the streets and shops
Laugh with my amigos
At the shirt that reads
  "Made in USA
      From Mexican Parts"
My heart now also full
Of Mexican parts

POEM - My Father is the Ghost My Mother Lives With

This isn't some metaphor

A loveless marriage

Ships passing in the night

Some abandoned halls of an empty four chamber heart

My father is in fact deceased

He expired and is no more Encased 

In this mortal coil

But it is a decade and a half later

And I only think of him when I need to

Or when my mother is talking

Or on the anniversaries

Of his birth or his death

But my mother still sort of needs him

To be around

Make sure things are in order

Be a presence to fill a lonely void

Somehow

And she expects him to be there

And when she talks about the little signs

The signals he still gives her

I don't think of it dismissively 

As the quaint fantasies of an addled mind

No mater how much I want to

Because I know she believes they are parted

But not separated 

And she believes forever is real

And he did to

And we all believe in ghosts

That like to visit on an occasion

Like to whisper to the grandchildren

To tell mom to do the dishes

Because he always told her that

He is the ghost that she lives with

That checks on her now and then

Whispers to her as well

Little things to calm her nerves

Lets her catch a glimpse of him

Out of the corner of her eye

With a big smile on his face

That raises his eyebrows 

And makes his eyes twinkle mischievously 

Kids Are People

Dishwater blonde kid

My son from my first marriage

           From my only marriage

My youngest son from an ongoing marriage

And he doesn't always get this

             To sit in the front seat

             For a long drive

Into the mountains we go

Uncharacteristicly

EzP is able to stay entertained

Without a single screen

Turned on

                  Off but close at hand

In case this journey fails

Despite all the assurances

That it would be a blast

Backup is at the ready

                          But it stays put

We are headed to pick up a friend

And a stranger

It doesn't bother him

All worry is on me

I own it

There are questions that come with ownership. . . 

Will EzP behave?

       And be able to understand 

             The accents and the mannerisms 

                     Of these folks so far from home?

He can

When bored

Cause a ruckus

Have behavioral issues

Bug the ever living cuss out of me

It worked out
He behaved
Talked and engaged
Answered questions
Carried a conversation
Effortlessly understood
                   Maybe far better than I
Our guests

It was soccer
And youth
And simplicity
And play
And a mountain stream
Of rushing dancing water
      Chilled noisy waterfalls
              Blissful clear pools
Hummus and string cheese and Red Vines and smiles
     And smiles
          And smiles
               And smiles







             

POEM - Form vs. Function

I liked it until I knew better

And grudge is a strong word

But even to my 3rd grade mind

It inspired strong emotions

When I got it

I loved it

When I premiered it

I understood

Sadly

Where the design went wrong

The plastic Peanuts lunchbox

That I had proudly lugged to school

With the thermos full of milk

    And a PB&J

            And celery sticks

                  And the little metal pudding cup

Just laid there

         Wide open

              For all the world to see

Like my lunch was Exhibit A

And I tried

I tried every which way

To make the thing sit up

Like everyone else's

             Wonderful lunch sanctuary

A bit of privacy

In the micromanaged world

That is elementary school

But it didn't work

And I continued on

Exposing my culinary secrets

Each and every meal time

Unguarded

On display

Exposed

My lunchbox

A similar lunchbox exposing the design flaw

POEM - Hugs

Neurologists tell me

All this worrying

Causes activation in the insula, 

          Anterior cingulate, 

                   And dorsolateral prefrontal cortex

And to settle down my worrying circuits

I need a real good hug

That is some good science

But isn't that the way

That it takes an international team

Of psychoanalysts and neurologists

Working for years

With control groups

Double blind studies

Full brain scans

Intensive metadata analysis

Just to confirm what we all know

What we've known since we were infants

When you feel bad

A hug, most often, makes it better

An embrace of a loved one

Drives out the pain

Anguish can be squeezed away

Vaporized

        Forgotten

The dorsolateral prefrontal cortex 

Finally stops being so complicated

At the same time our knees falter

Our legs shake and collapse

The world is left to drop

From our portion of Atlas's shoulders

As we crumple in a relieved heap

Bouyed up only

By a simple hug

POEM - Gray

In the monochromatic twilight
Of a frozen morning commute
I blurry eyed and struggling
Fight to retain consciousness
Dancing through the radio dial
Wandering and searching frantically
For something in my key
That I can sing along to
Loudly
Energetically

In the pre-dawn office building
I sore muscled and uninspired
Take circuitous paths
Through darkened quarters
Just to avoid arriving too soon
At my lonely quiet office
Where I slump down
Apathetic
Lazy

It is gray
The day ahead
Half-lidded
Stopped time
Tangential
Distracted

Only the faces that enter
Snap me back from the brink
Of abysmal boredom
Lackluster enthusiasm
A distraction from my distractions
A welcome lifeline
From fellow humanity
Discussing the merits
Of the latest remake
The quality and richness
Of the latest indie release
The tones of the vinyl
Recently rotated across warm turntables

A little grace
In gray worlds
Golden tones
Wake slumbering ears
Monochrome dissolves
In technicolor conversation
Warmly
Richly

POEM - Where the Rain Falls

This winter we must have been on Venus

Waiting like school children

Trapped in the classroom

For sunshine that seems to never come

Even the slightest ray warms

Skin so damp it never dries

I have watched the rain fall

In many ways

On many different days

And I play a small game

Trying to predict where to place a thing

So that it will not get wet

Protect a shiny steel wrench

Or a powered drill

From the cemented permanence of rust

As it eats and freezes 

First black then red

Then a pock marked mixture of both

Slowly the hard metal flowers 

Bloom and wilt imperceptibly 

But I never guess right

Where the tears fall

When the heavens cry

And this rain makes sadness stay

Hangs heavy all around

First black then red

And I never can tell where the rain will fall

Where there is shelter from the storm

And what will bloom

In the rains of Venus

As we wait for a summer day

POEM - Balcony Morning

Across the way

I look down

On the 9^th floor balcony

Where each morning they sit

The aging husband and wife

He reads the paper

Sips coffee

Swaddled in his white robes

She is dressed more brightly

And each morning he is there

The dutifully son

Caring for her

She is old

With bones so sore

Which he massages and moves

Lifting her arm this way and that

Helping to keep the stiffness away

Communing with his beloved matriarch

In the dawning warmth

Helping her to still be her

She must move

Much more than the old man

Next he will comb her flowing black hair

She can no longer comb for so long

This ritual continues

For most of the morning

As the son tirelessly cares for her

Father sits and reads

Comments about news and such

Asks for a refill, and another

Remains until the heat is too much

Only to relocate inside

To wait again

As she cooks the midday meal

Forgotten in the Middle

I am writing this on a Thursday

Or maybe a Friday 

Because I forgot

Because everyone forgets the middle child

It was Wednesday the holiday was

Middle Child Day

But

As I've said

Of course 

I forgot

And it was my middle child

Reminding me of it

Telling the joke

But she wasn't laughing

And the big sad lip

And the look

Telling me

She was not

In any way 

Amused

But that middle child

Well, they know they are forgotten

Mostly because

We all know

They will make sure

We all know

If we ever forget 

So we don't try to remember

Cuz they will

Make sure

We all know

So, I finally got around to this

Because I forgot 

But the middle child didn't

And she reminded me

Repeatedly 

And alright already

I finished it

I know, I know

I did it again

Sorry!

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!