Another gift from France —
now an Oak tree,
from where so many
Americans had
fallen to eternity,
then, the Statue of Liberty
with these poetic
words chiseled
for you and me:

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

This time to cross a desert border —
children yearning to meet
parents
and to be free.

In this now cruel country,
it is not to be.

He rode past his old home 
     and it looked quite nice 
with the postage stamp 
     front lawn and fenced in 
backyard. Then he 
     passed his old church,
gospel sing at six, 
     and saw his cousin 
fall on the front step
     breaking her arm. Just 
up the street was what
     was left of his grand-
parents home where 
     he and his folks spent 
every Sunday afternoon
     eating supper, playing 
Carrom and watching 
     Lawrence Welk. He 
drove “Up the Ave.” as 
     Michigan Ave. was 
called back in the day
     and maybe to this day.
It looked like a bombed 
     out street in Syria. He 
thought about crossing 
     Halsted Street to 
see his old grade school
     but he turned left and 
headed south just as 
     his parents had done
sixty-four years ago
     in what was known
as “White Flight,”
     as, perhaps, it still 
is.

*idea from the poem "Mercy, Mercy, Me"
by John Murillo

He awoke with fresh breath,
a sparkle on his bright,
white teeth, coiffed hair

and a gleam in his eye.
He went to do  stomach
exercises and realized his

abs were washboard hard.
After dressing, he quaffed
a glass of freshly squeez-

ed orange juice, drank an
extra smooth smoothie and
downed a cup of gourmet

coffee. As he opened the
door to take a ride in his
state of the art electric

sports car he encountered
an inferno. “Welcome home,”
stated the sinister voice.

“Wait a minute, if I’ve
died and I am thirty-five
and incredibly gorgeous,

isn’t this supposed to be
my just eternal reward?
“You are and this is.”

With that he awoke with a
start and headed to the
bathroom for relief. He

stared into the mirror
which reflected back his
bald, seventy-three-year-

old head and a face of
wrinkles and bags. He
breathed a sigh of relief.

While brushing his teeth
with foamy paste dripping
down his chin, he mumbled

and laughed, “Good morning,
handsome.” “Did you just
say something, dear?”

So we adopted a six-year-old female Chocolate Lab
Who had just given birth to a litter followed by being
Spayed and then journeyed from one foster home
To another in short order. Needless to say, she had
Emotional issues and then we learned quickly she
Wasn’t leash trained and she is very, very strong
And we got workouts just trying to walk her down
The street and then to our everlasting gratitude,
We learned that she is content to be on an extended
Leash in the backyard. Other dogs within eyesight
Go nuts just looking at this beauty, but she, full
Of her feminine wiles just sits and glances
From barking dog to barking dog and if we are
Correct, there is a bit of a smile on that pretty
Face with a come hither look. Fortunately, the
Boys were all on extended leashes, too.