“To See An Old Pal…”

(November 24, 2018)

to see an old pal

dry and now drunk…heartbreaking

and I was unkind

*(And now I pray that momentary shun leaves a small drop of worm in my pal Mike’s existence.  He dried up for a long time – even attended meetings I think.  And when I saw him just a few weeks ago, bellybulging with beer, one in his hand slopping out its pull-hole, and breathing enough to knock me over I knew he was nowhere near bottom now, and any attention I paid would mean approval to him.  I hope and pray he sees himself again. There are a few I know who struggle daily with what the rest of the world calls addiction.  I have a few of my own, but they only attack now in just-before waking dreams…and the call of that tobacco from a fine cigar is just an argument I keep around when much else is a yes these days.)

“The Danes Say It’s The Fish”

(November 29, 2018)

Danes say it’s The Fish;

fish hold their nose at The Danes;

Just buy air fresh’ner!

*(And, yes, Some Thing(s) are rotten in or near Denmark.  Stink comes up from Brussels, like as not.  The European Common Market got married to Itself with Great Britain standing in Groom-n-Bride’s spot in a wonderful new way to think of Man-and-Wife.  But that’s not the odor-issue here.  Willy Shakespeare cudda tole them.)


(November 29, 2018)

To The Boobs In Charge:

Boot two state reps off top shelf

over Bosses’ Boobs!*

*(Chicanery, thy name is constant political feud and fashion flinging right and respect for the voters everywhere…in both corrupt parties political, that is, what twists for truth is that both sides lie and cheat and steal.  Bloodsport and SausageGrinding, it’s explained.  Well, I like Spider Robinson’s posit in “Night of Power” in which all political positions from city council and such all the way up to president and supreme court justice are handed out by lottery – want lower taxes? just hop on a garbage truck each evening for a month and then do your real skill every other weekend for six months and pay none or a lot less – and if you are boss dog you stay in that 1600 Penna. Avenue doghouse and feed the Queen of England hot dogs and beans the day most of the rest of America does the same…and if you want Grey Poupon, that comes outta your pocket! All others live in government barracks right near The Troops and eat in the mess halls.  Do a good job and the six year sentence – oops, term – is cut in half; do a bad job and the sentence – no oops this time – is re-election!” Thanks, Spider.)