On the Prowl

Somewhere around seven-fifteen
a.m. the Lab wakes, shakes and gets
up to go for his morning adventure,
which translates to tinkle and poop.

Halfway through the pine grove,
he stops, lifts a leg and balances
somewhat precariously because
he has three bad legs out of four.

Moving on to the edge of the
little shallow depression which
doesn’t qualify as a true sink
hole, he hesitates, nostrils flar-

ing. Normally, he wanders down
among the dune grass for privacy
to do his business, but he hesitates
on the precipice alert to danger —

deer, coyote, fox, raccoon, squirrel,
chipmunk, bunny rabbit, cat, mouse,
robin rustling in the grass? Arching
his back he lets loose, right there

before God and country and hightails
it back to the house for breakfast
following the hunt, tail wagging —
proud to have been on the prowl.

Around the Three-Ring Circus

He flipped to a station he tries not
to watch because of the blatant bias,
but he did anyway after the presidential
debate to see how they would spin the
preceding ninety minutes. Well, they
didn’t disappoint. They criticized the
moderator for interrupting their candidate
much more often than the other but failed
to mention that the candidate he interrupted
went on and on beyond his allotted time,
thus playing to their audience who happen
to be the candidate’s base. He and his
wife, watching the debate, actually wanted
the moderator to stop the barrage of blather
of that candidate and were upset that he
didn’t do more to keep things even, and
so we have the dividing line in America
and the driving force of those lines, the
media, which wants desperately to keep
it going for more and more money in the
coffers of the owners of the media. And we,
the viewers, are the suckers born every
minute while huckster P.T. Barnum laughs
his way around the celestial three-ring
circus.

His Frame of Reference

His frame of reference
is simply the frame.
He gets everything from
within the shell.
Eyes look inward at
the darkness, which
is all light
to his blind eyes.
Eyes, not used to the
light, look outward
blindly, wildly.
The body twists
in the wind —
up and down
and all around
like the giant Balloon Man
at the used car dealership —
arms flailing,
words castigating,
berating, humiliating.
What fun.
The blind guide is there
for the blind looking for
The Guide.

Where is the mystery?
Where is the wisdom?
Where is the humility?
Where is the modesty?
Where is the holy?
Where is the I and Thou?

There are only shells
in hell —
it is “a tale told
by an idiot,
full of sound and fury,
signifying nothing.”

Crown Him With Many Crowns

“Insurance card, please.
It has to be found.”
Zzzzzz goes the drill;
bzzzzz goes the drill;
here’s to a root canal;
there’s to a root canal;
here’s to a crown;
there’s to a crown;
he’s gettin’ crowns
all around where
his teeth are found,
but the insurance limit
was reached after just
one crown.
“Could you reuse one
of my crowns?”
They just laughed
saying, “He’s such a clown.”
“But we can keep on
drillin’, ’cause
more gold, in that
there mine shaft,
is sure to be found,”
said both the dentist
and the insurance
company in perfect
harmony.
“Bank account balance,
please, you silly clown.”

For One Another

The good Father wrote,
“The Greek Zeus became
the Latin Deus,” and the
baby was tossed out with
the baptismal water.

And so, instead of gentle
Jesus, meek and mild, we
have the Celestial Warrior
sending children to
the slaughter.

We always seem to seek
a monarch to sit on
top a pyramid even
though pyramids
eventually totter.

We raise up other kings
who gladly offer up to
battles (and to the dis-
tress of all mothers)
sons and daughters.

Deus sits not on Zeus’
throne. Deus swirls in
and out and round about
in Trinity love with one
another,

embracing mountains and
valleys with justice, mercy,
peace and swimming
gracefully through all
of creation’s waters.

Nothing is left untouched
by Spirit’s flow and glow —
in us, through us, with
us all, and we become the
Risen Lamb for one another.

The Wound on the Floor

It just lay there on the
living room floor, this
gaping wound, ugly as
sin, oozing even. It is
a good thing the floor
is laminate they rumin-
ated. The wound could
be cleaned up quickly
before anyone stopped
by, but the smell, (What
about the smell?) — the
permeating, sickening,
all-pervading stench of
the cancerous behavior,
yes, the cancerous
behavior. Even with
air spray, they still
could smell it and it
sickened them to the
marrow of their bones.
The dog finally came
out of the bedroom,
lifted his nose, flared
his nostrils and shook
his head before walking
to the door to ask to go
out and do his business.

Waving

He watches the dune grass wave at him as he sits
looking out the window. It is moving a little
faster now that it is late September, as if it
is trying to warm up, grabbing at the rays of
sun that hit it horizontally from the east,
as if the grass is beckoning the sun to hurry
up and move straight overhead and stand still
like in the Bible for the entire winter so
when the snow comes, the sun would melt it
right away and the grass could stand tall
and continue to wave at the man who by then
would be standing on the balcony looking out
at the pool and the neighbor, originally from
New York, but having moved to Phoenix twenty-
some years ago, waving at him from the hot tub
with the Western sun straight overhead intense
with heat as if it were standing still.

When Gay Isn’t

The man is a heterosexual
but no one references that
today, as in, “Oh, you are
a heterosexual.” That would
be so bizarre. The man quipped
that that must be “straight
privilege,” because his brother-
in-law is a homosexual and
this day everyone refer-
ences that as in, “Oh, you
are gay,” which his brother-
in-law hears just about
every day and that seems
good and okay in this day
but bizarre in another way.
The man thinks that wouldn’t
make him feel very gay,
in the old sense of the
word to constantly be
referenced this or that
way. The man has a deceased
colleague from back in
the day who hid being a
gay with a wife and a
child at play. On a busi-
ness trip, the man and
his colleague shared a
room for a day. The col-
league had too much to
drink and as he was
slipping off to sleep,
told the man that the
man was beautiful and
that he was in love
with him and hoped
that was okay. Sadly,
it was never mentioned
again after that day.
The colleague with the
wife and son wasn’t very
gay, in the old sense
of the word. Wouldn’t it
be gay, in the old sense
of the word, the man
wonders every day, if
the man, his brother-in-
law and his deceased
colleague were just
considered human beings
each and every day?

I Don’t Blame You

He read one of the poems of the day
written by a poet who had published
twenty books of poetry. It started
out pretty simple with brown grass
and water and horses in a field but
jumped to speaking in church and
talk of realistic and reasonable and
lots of metaphors and similes and
allusions and symbolism and
lots of other stuff and he thought
to himself that he didn’t have
five years to figure this all out
nor did he want to spend one
more minute in that place so
he bid her adieu and she replied,
“I don’t blame you.”