A Couple of Screws

After days of preparatory work
on the ceiling
it was time to raise

the drywall
and screw her in.
She was heavier that the drywall

that we had lifted
15 years ago,
or are we just that much weaker?

In any case, we had it in place after
a few tries when we discovered
we had to shave it here and there.

And then, after getting it up
and in place (no mean trick),
I realized that the screws

were on the kitchen table,
so Linda ran down the stairs
to find them,

only to not find them,
thinking logically and incorrectly
they'd be in a box labeled screws.

Sometimes I thought
management was hard,
but it is nothing

compared to manual labor,
where you'd give
your right foot

for another hand,
and then,
just for long enough to get in a couple of screws.

Mandala Sand Painting

In Tibet they'd drop
colored sand grain by grain
year by year

until the image
was completed,
only, when done,

to destroy the mandala
in a single stroke,
to shun attachment

and to emulate
the impermanence
of life.

Dark Side Nightmare

I thought that going
from teacher to dean was
a one way trip to the dark side,

only to discover that
there was a scarier
side going from dean to

the ranks of the unemployed.
Apparently I have a double
from the other side

shadowing me. It all started
yesterday when the local
hardware store called to tell me

that I had left some parts
for my pressure washer
on their counter.

They kept referring to me
as the teacher from the college.
I explained that I had been

to the store,
but not with parts from a
pressure washer,

and not with a little boy,
as they insisted.
They didn't believe me,

though I tried hard to
set them straight. Next I
was at the garage to pick

up my car and a man confronted
me and asked why I was following
him. I asked where he had seen

me and he said at an auto parts
store that I had never visited.
Again, he did not believe me.

The strangest occurrence was
how yesterday and today
I could see all the pasty white old

people who swarmed the streets
and stores in the middle of
the day like in the TV serial

"Dead like Me" where only the
dead can see the dead. Yikes,
is this happening to me?

Saying Goodbye Nightmare

Leaving is a painful thing.
As I get farther away,
there is no longer a door–

a way to go back.
I reach out
to touch the place

where I was
and though my hand
is right on it,

I can't feel anything.
I go back to visit
and nobody knows me,

for those
I knew
have left as well.

Without an Hollywood ending,
I wake up in a cold sweat
and realize that,

indeed,
I have left
and now will need

to be where I am
rather than
remember where I was.

The Kid

His wife told him to make a
picture of the grandkid,
The other woman

pronounced she
likes his poems
better than his drawings.

She was surprised to hear
that he had taught art
for thirty-five years.

Hilary Clinton,
bless her heart,
wants free health care

for everyone,
and the dogs bark,
asking to go out.

The fireworks
lit up the sky
a few hours ago,

ending in a rumble
that must be a minuscule version
of the war in Iraq.

My first day in my new life
was unfortunately and gladly laden
with the same numerous

and similarly convoluted
issues, memories,
and challenges.

Many Roads

After 58 years in
school in various capacities,
I now face multiple possibilites,

all entrenched with considerations
and expectations.
I wonder if we do make choices

or if we are simply led my our
spirit guide who so lovingly
lets us believe we make

conscious choices about
such important dilemmas.
Unfortunately, I'm not sure.

Our ability to
change the course of history
is more limited than we would like to believe.

Crud and hugs

Crud. Freud said
that we leave something behind
because we want to go back.

Well, today was my last day.
Or so I thought. I'd emptied
everything out,

and then sat down at home
in the easy chair,
and put my feet up,

and crud,
I remembered
I had forgotten to empty one drawer

of some personal stuff.
Will have to go back
tomorrow. Double crud.

But the nice thing about leaving
is that everyone says goodbye,
and everyone hugs you,

not just with those
partial hugs where you
hardly connect, but real

bear hugs, where you
wonder if they'll
ever let go

and even a woman who usually wears
a pretty official exterior
was so nice as to smile

and then to throw a couple
of kisses.
What a day!

Social Occasions

As I move from one world
to another,
I notice

that I'm going to
have to interact more
with strangers

than I did in my
old world.
It feels awkward

to meet new
people who do something
different with their lives

and whom I don't know you.
So I grasp at straws
trying to find something

in common.
Very strange, indeed.
Almost like the dating game!

Baseball Card

When I was a kid, I bought
a box of baseball cards.
There must have been

a hundred packages of cards,
or so it seemed,
at the time.

I separated the bubble gum
from the cards,
and put the whole box

on a metal shelf in
our warm
summer kitchen.

All the bubble gum
melted together
and I learned

another life lesson,
as I do
every day of my life.

Back then,
we all dreamt
of being on a card

of our own.
Little did we know
that it was as simple

as having
a little imagination
and a lot of inspiration.

Obnoxious

There is something obnoxious
when you use all the crayons
in the box.

Maybe it is crass
to show off so much
wealth,

or perhaps
it is the
lack of restraint.

Is sophistication
about painting an all black
canvas? Do our

eyes (or brain)
shun sensory
overload

and blaring
loud
music?

Two Questions

Why is it
that you can be so close
to having things

the way you want them,
and then you knock over
a ceramic artifact

and it shatters,
or you cut your hand
with a rough fingernail,

or you get intangled
with the mess-ups
of banks and insurance

companies? Or all three?
Where does the
happiness go when

she is so deftly
replaced with one
screw-up after another?

Concentricity

When I was seventeen
I started painting concentric bands,
hoping always to let

every color and thought show
through, both because
they had "currency" (to me)

since they were once part
of the picture,
and also because

I never wanted to
throw anything away

(especially a color).
Now,
forty-four years later,

I return,
using a
different media,

but the same concept.
The picture becomes more
decorative as well,

giving (me) a feeling of a
Persian miniature
or rug.

My Friend and the Naked Nymph

When my friend went to the
rest room at the Thai restaurant,
I decided to start today's drawing.

Not knowing what to draw,
a bottle of red pepper sauce
caught my eye.

Then
"in my wildest dreams"
a naked nymph

came to the table
to test the sauce
with her finger.

Satisfied,
she quickly departed,
and my friend returned.

It is Sad

Yes, it is sad
that it is hard
to change things.

Sometimes we are out
in a desert and our
axle binds up and

we can't move and
there is no help
available, and

we know that
with just a little
shift all would be well,

but it isn't happening,
so we stand there,
helpless and alone

with our arms up in the air
waiting for a wisp
of fresh air.

What is this?

The Buddhist wondered
"what is this" for ninety days,
and then discovered that

time goes very fast,
and suffering is
just a point of view.

Relieved not to be a Mouse

We all had nicknames
in grade school.
I suppose it was

a rite of passage.
I'm not sure
I remember

anyone else's,
but mine
was certainly

etched in everyone's
vocabulary,
as well as in mine.

"Mouse"
they called me, partly
because my ears stuck

straight out,
and partly
because I was so short,

and then partly
because it kind of
alliterated,

if that's a word, with
my last name,
"Mosley."

The Little Prince

He stood on the
foreign world
for a long time.

It was a place
that was not his,
and one day,

when he went to leave,
he discovered
that he had merged

with that strange planet,
casting doubts
on any hope

that he
could now leave
in one piece

to go off
to his peaceful
kingdom.

Popcorn

Many evenings
the wife and I
watch television and eat popcorn.

It sounds a little decadent,
like we are couch potatoes,
but to the contrary,

we neither watch TV
nor eat popcorn.
She works on jewelry

and I make a drawing.
Sometimes one of us
makes popcorn, but

that is mainly for
the dogs, who consider
it quite a treat

from their monotone color
and taste
daily meal.

The TV is on, but
neither of us can
afford to watch it

because she might
drop a stitch (she
weaves copper wire)

and I might screw
up my drawing.
Here,

Zoe is waiting to
see if this is going
to be a popcorn night.

She had a long day
chasing rabbits,
and would rather

be off snoring in a
dark corner of the
dining room if

the popcorn
is not going to
make an appearance.

Symbiotic Relationship

Crossing a street
many years ago
I told my son

to look both ways
before he crossed.
"What," he said,

"should I do
if a car
is coming?"

Now I have
a better idea,
some would call it

a two headed person,
but I'm happy calling it
a symbiotic joining,

so each is looking
out for the other
to preserve the whole.

Now we are looking for that
specialty clothes store
so we can come out of the closet.

Dr. Stout and Dr. Pavlov

Today we went to
the vet,
the dog and I.

It used to be once
a year,
but now that she's older,

it is twice
a year unless
we have some issue,

which deserves
a special visit.
My dog started sniffing

every inch of the office,
and then started
profusely salivating,

as if Dr. Pavlov
had suddenly rung a bell,
and the food would soon

be coming.
Then Dr. Stout
came into the examination

room,
and listened to
her heart,

and then gave her
an array of shots,
at which point

he commented
on the salivation,
which he said to watch

when we got home.
Later that evening
I made some popcorn,

and,
low and behold,
the salivation reappeared.

Pavlov lives,
may he
R.I.P.