Interference

When two occupy
the same space,
one is interfering.

Even if the
intention is intimate,
someone isn't able

to move
because they are
sharing the same

location.
What to some
is gentle touching

is to another
an imposition.
Often we think

that it is
the obstruction
that keeps us

from getting
to where
we are going,

yet, we yearn
to touch
each other,

but abhor sharing
our space or
acknowledging

that we are
often responsible
when bumping

into
those obvious
obstacles.

My neighbor

We share a driveway.
He stopped his car
and got out

as I was
walking back
toward my house.

"People don't have
time to talk,"
he said,

"the golden age
isn't really
golden.

Too much to do
and I don't know
where to start.

I can't wait
until the end,"
he said.

His hands and arms
shook as he talked,
adding that he was

worried about his
friend from WWII,
a nose gunner,

who was in the town
in Kansas
just flattened by a tornado.

Then the sun came out,
and what looked like
a gloomy day was now idyllic.

Look,
I said,
"a beautiful day."

"Yes,"
he answered,
"it is."

Party

The end of any year
means lots of parties,
one last night

and one tonight.
Sometimes more work
than work, just to go,

let alone to host.
This weekend it is
go, go, go.

Last night
he sat by
the unlit fireplace,

his head throbbing,
tired from
a long semester,

working too hard,
worrying too hard,
trying too hard,

he was able to
sit back
for a moment

and enjoy a
calmer moment.
"Less people

are here
than last
year," he commented,

with noone disappointed
that the subdued
gathering more

than matched
an exhausted
comradery.

Bully

I don't like bullies.
The fat kid in the school yard
who sits on you

because he has nothing
better to do,
or the adult bully,

who threatens wrath,
and uses twisted "arguments"
to pretend that reason

is on his side.
Often it is easier
to take his side,

until the next time,
when the threats reappear,
and once again,

the fat kid is sitting on you,
and no adults are
around to help.

Barber Shop

"We got all that
high tech stuff,"
the police chief said,

discussing guns
with the civilians.
He only had to

buy two guns,
one for off duty
and one for on

duty when he
was a rookie.
His "son finished

college in 3 1/2 years
instead of 4 and
he was the youngest

in his class." His
badges and stripes,
hidden by the

barber's chair cloth,
made him seem more
like a regular guy

except for those blue
stripes on his pants
or his thick leather

mace holder
ready for
action.

Mr. Thumbtack

She wanted me to make
a paperclip into a
butterfly,

and someone else
requested I do something
with a staple remover.

I thought I'd make
a blue paperclip,
like the one I saw yesterday.

All these ideas made
me feel like a dunce,
with a thumbtack for a hat,

you know, one
of those especially
big and shiny tacks,

that don't have
paint and make that
tap tap noise

when they stick
into your shoe or
help you do

a headstand,
when you wear one
on top of your head.

Paper Clip

He said that
Richard Strauss
claimed he could compose

music about a paper clip.
I couldn't imagine
a less inspirational

object, so I thought
I'd give it a try,
only to discover

how beautiful it was
standing like a surf board
reaching into the sky

as elegant of
a curve that
ever was.

Distraction

Be here now, they said,
yet my mind wonders,
looking and listening

at the car screeching
and the woman
refreshing her lipstick

as if no one
is watching.
I catch

something important
but only
the tail end

of (what might be)
an interesting thought.
The car stops screeching

darkening the street
with burnt rubber
and the woman

powers her nose,
anticipating meeting
someone

more to her liking.
My other ears and eyes
draw back into my head

and I command myself
(this time) to pay attention
more carefully

until my mind
wonders
once again.

Together

She said he said,
they took a walk,
almost forty years ago

and later, today,
they sometimes
become one

and sometimes two
or three or four
wondering where

the time flew to,
or, if Einstein was
right, where the train

was, and which train
they were on, and
where they were,

when the
lightning struck
like cupid's arrow.

Trust

He's now in the dog
house, having run
away a few days ago.

How can we trust him,
after he chose a rabbit
rather than his warm home?

He promises to be good
but we see that twinkle
in his eyes and how

his ears stand up,
waiting so patiently
for the rabbit

to rustle a
few leaves in
our neighbor's bush.

Lost Dog

We called our big dog in,
at bedtime, and called
and called and called.

To no avail, we went
on a search
and rescue operation,

combing the neighborhood.
Finally my wife looked behind
the neighbor's garage

where the rabbits
hang out. There he was,
anxious to return home

from
his evening's
adventure.

One Seventy

They don't know why
he fired 170 rounds,
or why he was so angry.

His family said he
rarely spoke, yet
he mailed reams of discourse

between
his first and second
indiscretion.

And in Iraq, today,
72 died, and my neighbor,
Mrs. Hudson,

phoned me
to tell me that
these are terrible times,

because, she said,
the bible said so
in a prophecy.

She asked if I could
imagine life before the
original sin

and I told her
that I liked apples.
She said that the Bible

never mentioned
what fruit it was,
but that she knew

it was bananas,
which I like even better.
So I let the sun shine

in the picture,
because it does shine,
even when our behavior

is
so
pitiful.

Dual Egotism

Not connected at birth,
they found each other
like two desperate magnets,

hungrily becoming one,
but not knowing who they are,
and becoming none.

They shared their hair,
had a common hand,
and went together to

work and play. They
loved each other, or
was it themselves?

But they were saved,
(somewhat) by a free
hand that

reached out
independently, and
felt

the freshness
of a
lonesome breeze.

Lonely

3:21 am is a lonely time.
My wife is asleep.
The dogs can barely

open their eyes,
and do so
just long enough

to briefly explore
the cold
morning

and then
come back
to their beds.

I remember
my college friend
telling me

"no matter what,
Jesus
will always love you,"

and how I used to
walk the streets
at night,

going to Hopper's
Nighthawks
where I sit by myself

and noone
knows me
because I am

that man
without
a face

and it is
these
moments

where I find
mirrors
and meet

(in myself)
that
whom I did not know.

Afghan Woman

Barely a teen,
she was married
to a man in his forties

who abused her
to the point
that she doused herself

with petro,
and, despite her best intentions,
survived, scarred,

wanting to only feel better.
Now divorced,
she is alone,

with her scars,
both physical
and emotional.

Good or Bad

". . . ask what you can do for your country."
And so he said, as he defined
a good person, and made

the rest of us guilty of treason.
My friend wondered what
social causes I would take

on in my next life after
my 38 years as a public
servant, and I wondered

at what point can I
declare a truce with
the final judge and

simply commit my
self to further understand
me, whatever that may mean.

And what is "my country"
other that a conglomeration
of people, faces, and things.

If everyone was doing
something for others,
to improve their quality of life,

who would be looking
out
for themselves?

Anne Frank

In Anne Frank
we read the diary
of all girls

vaulting from
child to adult
surrounded by

a microcosm of
the world, and
subjected

to love,
generosity
and fear.

It is an
extraordinary
opportunity to

live a tragedy
through the eyes
and mind of one

sensitive individual,
and to remind ourselves
that our humanity

as a species
is tentative,
at best.

Busy

To save a dollar
a day, we reduced
our cable service

to twenty seven stations.
Now we have a sane
number of little men

and women inside
our TV wondering what
to say or do next.

We live by calendars,
going from this event
to that, sometimes

leaving one early and
getting to the next late,
just so we can be eveywhere

at once. Yet when we get
sick, or our car breaks
down, and all these "urgent"

events get stuck on the
back burner, life
goes on without us.

Suicide Bomber or Mental Case

The country is focused
on an articulate
and angry mental case.

We've heard his thoughts
before, that we are the
cause of what has happened,

not him. Yet, thousands
of miles away, we daily
have similar tragedies,

also motivated by a
perspective, a point of
view, a set of beliefs.

We sometimes think
of education
as a luxury item.

In times like these
we realize that our only hope
is to help each other

to find better solutions
to common
and pervasive problems.

He had so much ahead of him...

His mother,
between tears,
couldn't understand

how
such
a beautiful life

could so senselessly
be
denied.

She saw her
son's
timeline,

with mostly
unused territory
ahead.

Tragedy is when
unwanted events
occur.

We review our lives,
looking
and wondering

what is waiting
behind
the curtain.