She always thought she
Walked a tight rope be-
Tween management and
Labor in her occupation
As the senior tight-rope-
Walker in the corporation
And that was the case
Except that, if truth be
Told, she, in her heart
Of hearts, always support-
Ed the cause of those who
Worked in the warehouse
And on the production
Line and that, now in
Refreshing, retrospective
Retirement, brought her
More satisfaction than
Anything else she ever
Did besides the artwork
That she now does with-
Out any management and
Labor relations issues
Or conflicts except the
Conflict within herself
About which colored
Piece of fabric to use.

He sat listening to a
famous, female poet
being interviewed by

a popular, female in-
terviewer of spiritual
matters before a mostly

female crowd. They spoke
of the starvation of
people for the meaning

that can be found in
poetry and contemplation
and silence and they

were all so earnest and
the audience laughed
so modestly and clapped

so appropriately and
appreciatively about it
all and it reminded

him of how he felt
as one of the few men
employed at a hospice

where he was sure he
was drowning in estrogen.
The point of no return

for him came when the
conversation turned
to how dust is alive

and how one female poet
named all the dust bun-
nies in her house. He

wanted to write a poem
about testosterone and
standing and screaming

bloody murder and then
he thought about just
standing, beating his

chest like Tarzan and
screaming bloody murder
but he lives in a condo

association and his
neighbors are mostly,
single, poetry and me-

ditation loving females,
who being given toward
myth, metaphor and simile

would unceremoniously
dismiss the earnestness
of his very manly out-

burst by earnestly believ-
ing that he, the screamer,
being of Scandinavian

blood was simply echoing
Thor calling down thunder,
lightening and destruction

to which they might laugh
modestly and clap approp-
riately and appreciatively

so he just shut down the
computer, wrote a love
poem and did his daily

meditative prayer, deep
breathing and yoga.

At dinner at a really nice, up-
scale Mexican restaurant in

Phoenix, he and his wife were
joined by their daughter by

his late wife and the two
grandchildren. Five days

previously, their daughter had
completed a thirty-five mile

trail run in Northern Arizona.
While looking across the table

at her, he thought of the awk-
ward, gangly, high school kid

running around the track and
then he thought about all

the years in between and the
grief over her mother’s tragic

death and how his daughter kept
it together through therapy and

the love and support of friends
and how she had found her vision

quest through trail running
and then five days ago running,

by invitation, through the sacred, 
Navajo land of enchantment as she,

the beautiful, spiritual child
described it in detail as they

inhaled the gourmet, street tacos
and tossed back classic Margaritas.

The young man moved to Phoenix from New York City a couple of years ago to be near an uncle who had moved from New York City several years ago. The young man started his own construction business and the couple employed him to do some needed updating on their condo.

The couple inquired into his life. As he stood on a ladder painting the ceiling, he spoke about his mother who recently retired from the New York City police department after forty years on the job.

She was a pioneer of females in the department and it wasn’t always easy being one of the few women on the force. He told one story of harassment toward his mother early on and how her male police partner put an end to it by telling the harasser that the woman’s father was the Chief of New York’s Fire Department and that two of her brothers were firemen, also.

The couple expressed appreciation for the young man’s pedigree. With a deep New York accent which seemed to get thicker as his pride rose, he, paused, lowered his paintbrush and stated, “Yeah, that’s my mom and my grandpa. They are my heroes. My uncle is my mom’s brother. He served forty some years as a fireman. His health is failing and I’m here to keep an eye on him. He’s right up there with my mom and grandpa and my other uncle.”

Then he dipped the brush in the paint and went back to putting the finishing touches on the ceiling. “So, what do you think?” he asked. “It looks real nice.” they said.

He sees the e-mails from
REI and The Clymb and he
starts to fanaticize about
great hikes and paddles and

rides and runs and then he
thinks about the very slow
jogs he does on the trail
just outside of the assoc-

iation back parking lot
that goes along the high-
way across from which is
the entire mountain preserve

in the heart of the city where
when he used hike it felt as
though he were in the middle
of the wilderness. His is not

a dramatic jog; there isn’t
much elevation on the run,
but the little hill he climbs
about halfway through his

jog makes him feel as though
he is halfway up Mt. Mc-
Kinley. Then he went to the
orthopedic surgeon’s office

and the nurse said he couldn’t
possibly be seventy-two giv-
ing him a subtle wink and
a nod and the physician told

him to go right on hiking,
cycling, kayaking and jogging
as long as he had no pain
and, with that, he felt like

he had just finished a hun-
dred kilometer trail run on
the Navaho reservation near
the Four Corners on a brisk,

bright and sometime, snowy
day just as he arrived back
at the condo at the end of
a thirty-minute slow jog.

They were having some work
done on the condo — three
glass panels from 1985 were
to be removed and the wall
painted terra-cotta in homage
to the lay-of -the-land. A little
patch of popcorn ceiling also
circa 1985 was to be scraped
and painted before attaching
the new dining room light
fixture replacing the 1985,
leaded-glass light fixture.
The workman was scheduled to
be at the condo by nine a.m.
and the owner lost sleep
going over and over in his
mind how he was going to get
the dog out and fed, grill
the tilapia, which had to be
cooked or thrown out because
they were going away for the
day to vacate the premises
for the sake of the workman,
fry the eggs, eat and clean
up and move the dining room
furniture all before the work-
man knocked on the door and
if that wasn’t enough the
owner, when he did finally
get to sleep, dreamed that he
overslept waking up with a start
at 9:15 and in a panic running
to the door in his undies to
greet the irritated workman
who had been standing there for
fifteen minutes when, in reality,
the owner got up at the dog’s
beckoning at 7:15 and got it all
done which included taking the
dog out in a rare rainstorm
in the desert, hauling in
the dog’s food from the car
which he forgot to do the
night before, grilling under
an umbrella, frying the eggs
with cheddar cheese and
tomatoes and grinding the coffee
beans and making a pot of coffee.
His wife was finishing up the
dishes at 9:05 when he got a
text that the workman was
running late and wouldn’t be
there until around eleven,
if then.

We all know that the universe
Started with me. In time
I gather that my parents
Preceded me but I don’t really
Take that seriously. In school
In history class I am told about
Something that happened some-
Where sometime but not in my
Lifetime and therefore in no
Time. It’s a bit disconcerting to
Watch Nature and Nova and
Any special about Africa being
The cradle of civilization. Is all
That about another earth, another
Solar system, another galaxy,
Another other? Of course, it has
To be because my life is all
There is, was and is to be be-
Cause it is all about you and
Me and, really, almost mostly
Excusively just about me, you
See, if there actually was, is
Or is to be a you to see.

How do I know thee?
Let me count two ways.

Draconian: cruel, drastic, heavy-handed,
oppressive, severe, strict.

Take your pick.

Machiavellian: cunning, expedient,
opportunistic, calculating, conniving,
contriving, crafty, deceitful, devious,
plotting, shrewd, sly, underhanded,
unscrupulous, vile.

Thee and thy inner circle have crawled
out from under a big rock pile.

This is how I know thee
and all thy narcissistic ways.

My dear, fake President, America must flee
draconian, Machiavellian deeds speedily
by standing up nonviolently
in great protest of thy Unholy Trinity
and their nefarious ways.

Welcome to the Whirling, Swirling 
      Universal 
Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer
      inviting you to 
be the Dance with the Dance
      of who you are and who 
you are meant to be. 
      The Dance is 
for you as you become 
      the Dance, too – ecstasy, 
joy, bemusement, sadness, 
      grief, wonder including 
air, earth, fire and sea 
      with you, in you, free 
in the Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer,
      below, around and above
becoming the eternal
      Dance of Love.

They are straight
and he is gay.
He’s the bartender
and Friday is the day
they sit at the bar
and discuss what may
and politics of Mayday, Mayday!
They have much to say
and they agree on many things
in the country going so far astray.
He always gives them
one free martini of the day
and they say thanks silently
with a tip, a wink and a nod
to help till his pay-day.
Nothing is said.
What is there to say?
Just mutual appreciation
between two straights and a gay
on Thank God It’s Friday
in the country
that has lost its way.
“If that’s all there is, my friend,
then break out the booze and let’s…”
commiserate the night away.