A pretty, young mother
and teenage daughter
stood in line behind me.
Mom went on and on
about being in town from
Minnesota and staying
at the local resort for a
week and sunbathing by
the pool in 65 degree
weather and soaking up
the sun while all the
locals wander around in
Michelin Man coats. She
didn’t say that. She said
something like heavy winter
coats. I inserted that
here because the down jack-
ets which are all the rave
remind me of the tire com-
mercial. I asked the dau-
ghter if they were Scand-
inavian, thinking I could
mention my Swedish her-
itage and use my best im-
pression of the Swedish
chef from the Muppets.
My kids loved it when
I talked in Swedish jibb-
erish. She said they were
German. I heard her ask
her mother how they
were going to get back
to the resort with all
the groceries. I went
to my car and as I was
leaving saw them walk-
ing out of the store carry-
ing big paper bags. Snow-
bird to the rescue. I
lowered the window
and offered to take them
back to the resort in as
much as I lived across
the street from it, but
that someone would
have to sit in the back-
seat with the Chocolate
Lab. (Are you beginning
to see how this was
a major mistake, just
fraught with all kinds
of really bad scenarios?
I hadn’t until just at
that moment and thought
to myself, WHAT! ARE
YOU NUTS!) A really,
really big warning sign
jumped into my mind, one
I drummed into my kids’
heads: NEVER ACCEPT A
RIDE FROM A STRANGE MAN!
Mom said no, that her
sister lived right down
the street. I said okay,
have a nice day and drove
away. Mom said bye doggie.
I looked in the rearview
mirror and saw the daugh-
ter checking out my car’s
license plate — Michigan.
Michigan car, Arizona
residence. Sure. I wanted
go back and assure them
I was a harmless, old
snowbird with a wuss of
a dog even if he is ninety-
five pounds and goes by
the name Bruno (just kidd-
ing. I wouldn’t have said
that). I didn’t say any-
thing. I didn’t go back.
Hey, I may be stupid but
I’m not dumb. I just gulped,
began to sweat in the sixty-
five degree weather and
drove. I thought of Kafka,
Camus, Sartre and Mariska
Hargitay. I waited
all afternoon for Law
and Order: Special Vic-
tums Unit to knock
on the door. I’m
trying to find some-
thing humorous
here. Seriously.

He told me he had met the love of his life. I asked how he knew and he said she had breasts like two fawns, twins of a gazelle, cheeks like halves of pomegranates, eyes like doves, lips a crimson thread.

“Wait a minute, Solomon, what about between her ears?”

“What do you mean? I’m sure it is Eden on a sunny day,” he replied.

“Well, east of Eden, for sure,” I stated, “You know the cliché about the cover of a book. There’s a reason it’s a cliché. And by the way that goes for both male and female covers, oh, handsome one,” I warned, “Just remember, you aren’t just getting a beautiful body; you’re getting the whole family, the history of humanity and a lot of it ain’t pretty.”

Ah, the proverbial blindness of love and so they married and, in the first year, experienced the history lessons of a lifetime.

Sitting on their hands, they fought the skirmishes of the tribes of Israel, all the Greek mythological wars, the Peloponnesian War, the conquests of Rome and they finished month twelve with the Viking invasions.

I told him congratulations for surviving the first year and asked him if he were ready for the second round. He said they were only up to one thousand C.E. but had been invited to lecture at the U.S. Army War College. Actually, they both agreed to an appointment with a marriage counselor.

I said, “Good boy. Would you do it all again?”

“Well, I hate it when her father roars out of her mouth and she hates it when my mother whines out of mine, but are you kidding?” he asked, “Do you have any idea how great the truces are?”

Ah, love.

A man of middle-age
stood before the oracle
high on a mountain side.
She asked the man
what he wanted.
He indicated that his life
had been meaningless
and had had no impact.
She said, “Good bye.”
Startled, the man
weakly lifted his right hand
and waved. The tip of his
middle finger glanced
against
a loose pebble.
It fell from its
precarious perch.
It rolled down
dislodging larger rocks
which caused boulders to
careen into a stream.
The stream grew in
intensity and water
rushed down a gorge
joining
other tributaries
into the river.
The torrent roared
into the sea,
underwater currents
reverberated, sea
creatures rose and
descended with the
swirling water and
wind, waves rose
higher and higher
and crashed louder
and louder,
clouds formed, rain
came, winds blew,
snow fell,
precipitation covered
the parched land,
aqua ducts filled,
vegetation grew,
animals flourished,
air rose, birds flew
and as the man’s
hand fell to
his side,
a butterfly blown in
on a zephyr wind
descended on his
left shoulder.

They say they just, just, just love Jesus each
and every day,
but,
only lift, thin, hymn sandwiches his way,
but,
their lives are a mess of issues in just
about every way,
but,
in reality, it is for everyone much the same way
but,
they say Jesus is the answer all,
but,
they aren’t interested in questions at all,
but
they can’t seem to get it together,
but,
if asked, they exude certitude,
but,
she ran away from a God blessed vow
but,
she wants her son to accept Jesus right now,
but,
she wants the good life along with the Sacred Cow,
but,
she says she only cares about heaven,
but,
this marriage is more like hell and less like heaven,
but,
they all love Jesus, their kids, too,
but,
there is this one who has gone her own way,
but,
they see her as a rebellious stray,
but,
she actually seems to have it together
but,
of course, she has issues, too,
but,
they say, if she accepted their tribal Bible’s Jesus,
but,
she looks at their lives and just sees a mess,
but,
she likes questions but answers less,
but,
they know it all; Jesus for every question,
but,
they are anti-abortion,
but,
wouldn’t think of the inconvenience of adoption,
but,
never minorities; that’s no option,
but,
they want Mexicans to go back home,
but,
they won’t lift a finger to clean a resort room,
but,
they won’t lift a finger to mow their golf course,
but,
they think gays by nature are inverse, of course,
but,
if gays express love, they then become perverse.
but,
only they are going to heaven,
but,
Jews, too, by another covenant,
but,
for Muslims there is no such divine agreement,
but,
their lives are such a mess with such unhappiness,
but,
if asked, they exude certitude,
but,
while they know that Jesus is the way,
but,
in the lap of luxury they wish to stay,
but,
they don’t see Mammon getting in the way,
but,
Jesus, the Capitalist, just wants them happy,
but,
only in their misguided, certain, no questions way,
but,
from the absolute, black and white truth,
they will not stray,
so,
miserable and unhappy they will stay,
for their Jesus is the only way.

I love this guy!
What’s not to love about this guy?
He’s so totally rainbow
coalition American: white mom,
black dad, raised by white
grandparents in Hawaii, found
himself, his life
and his wife on the south-side
of Chicago.
He had some great one-liners,
quick, impromptu, could
be a great stand-up in his
next incarnation, and
then there is the oh, so
sly, sweet, smirky, smart-
ass smile — his non-verbal
gotcha.
I love this guy!
What’s not to love about this guy?
He is our future so totally now.
He’s ours.
He’s our “no lame duck, I
won both times, here’s
the agenda” president,
and I just can’t get that oh, so
sly, sweet, smirky, smart-ass
smile out of my head.
Even as an old, white guy
I can’t help myself,
“You go, bro!”

Technology is
leaving the rust-
belt poet
in the dust.
But personal
freedom, self-
determination and
perhaps a misguided
notion of privacy
are a must.
He writes on and
lets the chips fall
and won’t make
a fuss.
He just posts
what he feels,
and hopes
the words won’t
turn to rust
and then dust,
but in any event,
not to
be fussed.

Heaven approached
and scared me away.
It wasn’t what I
imagined nor was
taught each Sunday.
So I settled for the
devil I knew,
that which was
comfortable and could
be counted on
through and through.
“Lord, I really must
demur.
It is this
world I simply do
prefer.”
I really don’t mean
it when I pray,
“Thy will be done
in heaven and on earth
everyday in every-way.”
No, it’s no fun having
the bejesus scared
out of me with all
that fuss,
so, “If you don’t mind,
Lord, I’ll just pass
for now and wait till
death to catch a ride on
that heaven-bound
bus.
And to be
perfectly clear,
I’m not sure I
won’t still be
in fear.”

The man asked the master, “Why?”
The master said, “Ah.”
The man asked, “What?”
The master said, “Arrgh.”
The man asked, “Where?”
The master said, “Here.”
The man asked,”Here?”
The master said, “Here and there.”
The man hummed, “Hmmm.”
The master said, “And that, too.”
The man asked, “When?”
The master said, “Now.”
The man asked, “Now?”
The master said, “And then.”
The man asked, “Now and then?”
The master said, “Then and then,”
looking back and forth.
The man asked, “Then and then?”
The master said, “Ah and Arrgh, now
and then and then, yin and yang
and auld lang syne and
hmmmm all in Einstein time.”
The man asked, “There’s a connection here?”
The master said, “And there and everywhere.”
The man scratched his head, said
“Thank you, I think,”
and headed to bed.

Dante wrote,
“In the middle of the road of my life
I awoke in the dark wood
where the true way was wholly lost,”

or so I thought so many times, but
it’s always hind sight isn’t it?
Looking but not being able to see

the forest for the trees, I thought
I should have been an attorney or
a clinical psychologist not a poor

country preacher. With deep, heart-
felt regrets for taking up the
precious time of others with my re-

curring fraughts and oughts —
shoulda, coulda, woulda — until
I sat in a pew opposite the pulpit

that I knew so well and knew how
much I needed to hear good news.
Then I knew I only thought I was

lost; but now I know even in part,
knew and will know and it was, is
and will be good every step along

the way, each day. Could I not
have known, thus saving sorrows
and regrets? I know now, which is

then and will be and I was, am and
will be free. I have stared into the
abyss, green Grendel’s lake of dark

dreams, he reaching out to drag
me into the suffocating soup of
oblivion before Beowulf befriend-

ed me. Am I not to sleep? I went
down into the lake and met the
mother of all my fears, for one

had gone before and there in the
dark, I saw the bright beach with
hot sand dripping blood from the

beautiful blond only to discover
that I was stabbing myself. Drop-
ping the knife, I embraced myself;

the wounds healing in my awakening
and I am grateful to have been what
I was, am and will be in God’s ever-

present, compassionate eternity.

The singer belted out the
national hymn without
missing a

beat. Right on cue, the
Air Force fighter
jets buzzed

the throngs. The crowd roared
amens of approval.
The commercial

showed the most storied
sniper sniping in
the movie

made by the “Go ahead,
make my day,”
man who

speaks to empty seats. Then
a kick boxer trash
talked into

the camera, flexed his
muscles and, presum-
ably, kicked

the be-jesus out of some
hapless Henry. Finally,
cartoon G.I.

Joes danced tippy-toed
on a beach with
bombs bursting
at their

feet. And finally, after
getting the okay,
from the

network and all the cor-
porate sponsors
who chomped

big old Cubans, the
congregation cried
for the blood

of the lamb, and the
mostly minority
gladiators

galloped onto the field
for Sunday worship
in Seattle.