The fish rots from the guts, literally;
the fish rots from the head down, metaphorically.

Turks get credit for coining the phrase,
meaning that if a servant goes bad
the owner is not to be praised.
It is a situation ever so sad.

Well, by and large,
we are beyond owners and slaves
except we have been barraged
by many rotting government knaves.

And from whence do the knaves
take their cues?
From the accidental leader —
hoping elections not to lose.

Well, the head stinks to hell so low
and also to heaven so high.
The naves, about the leader, do crow
while all the rotting head does is lie.

Isn’t it time for the political compost pile?
As the smell fades, heads, guts and flesh will boil
Still for the smell to go, it will take quite a while,
providing time for rot to transform to rich, good political soil.

Red, red wine
tasted so fine
but over time
too much wine
could lead to crime
and Buddy, Have you got a dime?”
Got to keep my liver benign
and my mind so fine;
got to give up
red, red wine
and spirits and beer.
Beer?
Drinking beer
I have nothing
to fear,
‘cause I’m
feelin’ fine.
“I liked beer;
the boys
and girls liked beer.
I like beer.”
“Did you ever black out?”
“Did you, senator?”
“Please just answer the question.”
Red, red wine
tasted so fine.

In high school biology, his teacher
told him that what he didn’t have in
brains he made up for in personality.

His high school business teacher
told the class that if they were B
students in high school, they
could count on being C students
in college.

The mother of a friend told her
that she didn’t deserve to be in
advanced classes. She believed
the mother of her friend rather
than her parents.

Some uppity person told him
he had a second-rate mind.

And, as the King of Siam
said, “Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”

Not necessarily huge deficits,
maybe even little things in the
big picture but enough to weigh
them down.

One little pebble on the road
can send you flying face down.

The die was cast;
the mold had hardened;
fate fixed in time;
the Rubicon had been crossed;
there was no going back.

For a while they bought into the
judgment of such dubious
authority figures,

(“Why would my friend’s mother lie?”
she had asked.)

and became “prophecy self-fulfilled” —
in self-esteem, in grades, in sports,
in everything or so it was thought.

And there really was no going back,
but there was a going forward.

They emerged from the cocoon
for reasons undetermined —
more pluses than minuses?
more parental positives than negatives?
an inherent, underlying confidence?
Genes?
Environment?
Nature?
Nurture?
Both?
Who knows?

Perhaps, it is as simple as having had
the book “The Little Engine That Could”
read to you at bedtime by a loving
parent — something like that — something
more significant than a TED talk.

Who knows?

But they did emerge and
they endured vicissitudes and
succeeded in meeting their goals
and feeling, oh, so good about it all,

and then they took
a philosophical view of life:

second-rate meant bargains galore, if
one knew where to look; bargain basement
shopping;

second class was much better than first;
going first class was way too costly
and you arrive at the same time
and have money to spare to spend
at the bargain basements and
consignment shops.

And then they celebrated with what had been
termed by the sommeliers as second-rate/class wine
which cost much less and tasted just as fine.

And in the end, which is
always a beginning of sorts,
they are very, very nice people
who are quite modest about
their accomplishments — unassuming about
themselves and others
and they always pat others
on the back.