THE GREATEST RAIN

The greatest rain
saw us prancing carefree beneath the trees
like silly water-drunken creatures
inscribing footprints in the grass
of my youth,
when visions of you
lay yet unnamed in fetal slumber
for all the haste of boyhood
growing into self-importance.

But the rains with you have washed away
delusion.
I am more naked with you
and naked more without you.

Sweetly now rain courses
the clefts of my face
and drops at feet still
yearning for more drunkenness
beneath trees bowing their approval at
the sight of us locked
in the promise of
more dewy laughter
before we dry.



DESCENT

The year began with a few lines scratched on wrapping paper
and was followed by even less the next month
when already March arrived wearing baubles
except that the cold frosted around eyelids
prevented clear sight and resolution
leaving April foolishly spent
at the bottom of a bottle
and bloodless lips
mouthing epithets
lying crumpled on
the floor beside the
waste basket too full
to care about the fog
this side of the window
and the buzzer going unanswered like the phone
and the TV blaring to drown out the radio
and the body in the drink.





THE PROCESSIONAL

The day of your wedding when it came
as we walked in lockstep
toward promises no longer mine to break,
it was our shadow out ahead
– mine longer, yours stronger –
that held me for an instant in its wake.

It seemed to wish itself released
from its pledged bond
for a brief sojourn to an earlier place
beneath another sky:
of chattering birds and trusted words
when fear was not yet written on your face.

But the moment passed. Before I knew
our shadow had diverged.
No longer walking side-by side,
we stood in awe of new horizons
both radiant though opposite in gradient:
I, your father still, but you a glowing bride.



HIS TOUCH

It was his touch she sought
just his touch light upon her shoulder,
nothing more, as she brought
the dishtowel to her eyes,
but he was preoccupied he told her,
said the company had been down-sized
and the pension jeopardized.
Maybe they should see a financial planner
as he retired to the den
and fell asleep as was his manner
beneath the medals and the banner
of the boy they would not see again.


SURGICAL SAGACITY

Before the operation he was told
that he might not survive,
but that if he did come out of it alive
he’d be happier this side of old.

After the operation he was told
that it was a success,
that they’d taken out what was not left,
which had him feeling right less.

But he learned to do with only half,
which was better than before.
So, considering his improvement,
they suggested, “Let’s do it once more.”


RECREATION AMERICAN STYLE

Oh what fun it is careening
past retired folk and screaming
full throated down a sidewalk hill.
Life's a thrill
of hazards hoarding
in the grip of skateboarding.

Even more the joy descending
powdered mountain trails unending:
dread suffused with tingling chill.
But for a spill
it’s so rewarding:
the serpentine of snowboarding.

Yet the best is sheer reclining,
proof of man’s unique designing,
washed by waters dark and still.
With time to kill
one lies according
to the laws of waterboarding.

MOMENT OF TRUTH

Deathly silence is when you want to
and she does not.

Silent death is when she wants to
and you cannot.



PARDON ME, MASTER PRESIDENT

Oh pardon me, Master President,
for not laughing at your jokes,
and for all the times I did laugh
when you addressed the world and misspoke.

And for the promises you made
that I couldn’t quite believe,
for I realize now you had no mind. . .
to inveigle and deceive.

You see I’m just an average fellow,
I pay my taxes and live
giving thanks that I haven’t yet dropped
through our holey social sieve.

But I hear that soon you’ll be leaving
your house on the avenue,
and you’re thinking about your legacy
to do a good turn for the few

who’ve erred along the way, God love 'em:
they too deserve a confessor;
so I thought I’d beg your pardon
like the rich did your predecessor.

THE FAN

If I were a fan, they said,
I could scream and yell,
and dress up like a lunatic
without catching hell.

I could don a wedge of cheese
or a Viking hat,
or stand half naked in a freeze
showing off my fat.

Cuss the referee, I could,
or the quarterback,
importune the gods to strike
the whole damn team with flack.

Weep all week and chew my nails,
ignore my family,
because a fan, I’m told, is full
of wind and empathy.

So the next time I’ll be there
to make my voice resound,
get bloated on a keg of beer
and move some air around.



EAR WITNESS

That late and lazy afternoon
of iced coffee and crumpled newspapers
it was the
sudden
piercing
scream of a young mother
followed almost instantly by
the sickening screech of tires
which in the manner of threes
had one expect the
quick
dull
thud to come. . .

which it did.




A SHELTERED CORNER

A plot of earth
a quad of grass
a hallowed spot for those who left us
in September.

A place for grief
and solace green
a humble sanctuary for the living
to remember.

What more than this
to gather strength:
a sheltered corner
in December?