I was sure
To Kill a Mockingbird
Would surely
Win,
Surely,
But I hesitated then
When
For
“The Great American Read”
All hundred names were read.
But I trusted the wonderful words
Of Harper Lee would
Surely
Win.
When the count down
Ended and the top five
Were read
I knew, in my heart, it
Was Harper Lee
Who would win.
And she
Surely did,
And when she did,
I cried
For Scout, Jem, Atticus, Boo Radley
And the ill-fated Tom Robinson —
Integrity, justice, courage, compassion
And human strength and warmth
Would win.
I just knew.
I surely knew
What Harper Lee
Would do.
With pride
I cried.

They sit around the corner of the bar —
Each one a regular: a husband and wife team —
the managers, he, maintenance, she, the books.
They could have been stand ins for the couple
In Grant Wood’s American Gothic. They drink beer.
Around the corner sits a fellow from
West Virginia who moved to be closer to
His daughter, but apparently, never sees
Her. He wears a Marshall U. sweatshirt.
Then two to four more — all around
The same age, wine and mixed drink
Drinkers. All the guys are gray and have large guts.
One fancies himself a dandy with a large pompadour.
Then ownership changed.
Nothing else changed for a while. Then the Grant
Wood couple stopped drinking beer at
The bar and the guys were seen around
Town at different bars but not at their
Usual seats around the corner of the bar.
Another customer asked a bartender who knew their names
Where they all went, pointing to the corner.
The bartender asked who and on given a description,
Just shrugged and mumbled, “Don’t
Know.”

They say he is the “closer”
like Mohammed Ali, a fast,

flurry of punches to take
out his opponent while all

over TV. In this case,
the closer is the Devil

punching the heck out
of the truth and lying

like there is no tomorrow.
His predecessor has hit

the trail, but he tells the
truth and it fails and falls

flat. Apparently, a lot of
Americans don’t want that.

The masses want red blood
and the Devil’s lies

come like blood flowing
from the country’s carotid

artery. Nobody wants
the nice guy’s message;

nice guy’s finish last if
not dead. So, in the short

haul, the Devil wins; in
the long haul, the U.S.

will pay for all its self-
ish, paranoid, racist,

misogynistic, homophobic,
nativistic, xenophobic

sins. That’s in the long
haul; as for this election,

only God seems to know
even as the Devil is the

whole show.

He sits in his study and listens to the
classical radio station. The music is
Elizabethan. He is transported from

his study to the fine arts camp from
where the music originates only in
his mind he is sitting on a bare

wood plank next to his wife. They
brought stadium seats with backs
for comfort. They sit in an exact

replica of the Globe Theatre. It is
summer and they are watching “Much
Ado About Nothing,” which actually

is about something, the word “nothing”
meaning “noting,” or “to take note.”
The husband and wife take note of

everything including the fact that
they could rest their backs in a way
the original theatre goers couldn’t.

They take note of the length of the
play and wonder how those Eliza-
bethans did it. He sits up straighter

in his desk chair, stretches his back
and rotates his head around his neck
as the harpsichord and recorder music

come to an end and as he had done that
beautiful summer’s day they watched a
Shakespearean play.

My family — to a one —
has been taciturn,
but still much fun.
Wives ( I’m widowed
and married again in turn)
daughter, son and
one step-son.
They love small
gatherings,
rather intimate
social things,
where they can
tell some jokes
and have a lot of fun.
When we are at
the shore,
I gather bathers
and chat up a storm;
they gather shells
that have
washed ashore.
They say that is
my norm.
I say I am happy
that they are
themselves.
I guess it’s
true that opposites
attract;
introverts and
extroverts
can make a
happy pack.
Until, I talk
too much
and they —
to a one —
say, “Give us
some peace.
Please hush.
Enough with the fun.”
It is then, in
jogging shoes, I’ll
slip out the door
and find a
few people more.
“A top of the day,”
I say, “Want to
have some fun
and go for a run?”
They usually just
look and frown
and wonder if
I’m some kind of clown.
I say, “I’m just an
extroverted jogger
jogging around town.”
More often than not,
I wind up jogging alone
— yes, a lot. But I know
after my run,
my family — to a one —
will be happy to see me
back home.
Maybe.

While watching
Masterpiece
on Sunday evening,
he was overcome with
a deep sense of wellbeing —
such quality programming —
the music, the images,
the drama — Masterpiece
only on PBS.
This calls for a toast.
Masterpiece, a friend —
the host
with the most
sophistication,
friendly persuasion.
Can a person love
a television station?

He had a rictal response
to so much video venery
he actually got bleery
and had a hard time
putting his plimsolls
on his soles
so he could run
through the coppice
and past
the borstal
with young offenders all.
A harridan
yelled at him
and every other man —
one of whom
was a lapidary
taking a break from
polishing the gems
for a fun run
with his friends.

*italicized words I had to
look up from A Legacy of Spies
by John le Carré.

.

The mob mentality is just under the surface;
Ready to emerge and wreak havoc. It did

That in the most sophisticated society in
The world in the twentieth century. Why

Would it not happen in the United States?
It is trying to happen, but the United States

Is a society of immigrants who, over the
Years, has learned to live together. This

Diversity, these years of learning to live
Together will serve us well during these

Years of fascist emergence and race baiting
And tribal hating. I trust, I pray, we will

Emerge stronger, more diversified with pride
And a desire to make amends for our sins of

The past — slavery and the attempted, thwarted
Ethnic cleansing of Native Americans. I trust

That our experiment in democracy will endure
And persevere and emerge wiser, more mature,

More compassionate and a witness to the world —
The experiment in representative democracy

Survives, thrives and, gloriously, remains
Alive.

Thugism: he incites the base
to violence against women,
blacks, browns, Democrats —
inciting the base: “Lock her up,
string them up, cut them up,
slam them down,” “Rope, Tree,
Journalist.” But the thugs own
the whole government — three
branches. What are they afraid
of? Why are they raging? Why
are they stirring up hate? Why
are they being thugs? Because
they are angry, old, white men
who know it is just a matter
of time before they die…off?
Bingo! Lord, is it too much
to ask that you hurry along a
cheeseburger chomping, diet
Coke swilling, money-grubbing
angry, old, white thug to his
heavenly conversion in your
eternal grace and gift us with
the absence of one, angry, old,
white man with many, many more
angry, old, white men to follow?
Wait, I’m an old, white man.
Will I have to be there with
them? Oh, you are going to gift
them all with compassionate,
heavenly hearts? Really? I was
just kind of kidding about the
conversion thing. You can do
that? Even Trump? McConnell?
Seriously? Promise? Please?
Oh, you mean in heaven. Right.

I sat at my desk
closed eyes,
wondering
who was the
most important
person I might surmise.
I’ve always thought
it was I
since birth,
but lately,
in my head,
I
have been wondering
if it might be
someone else
instead.
Well, I heard
the noise of a truck
so I opened my
eyes
and I was
immediately struck
seeing the
most important
person on earth.
Of course, how
did I not understand?
It was he
giving my
garbage a chuck
into his garbage truck.
Of course,
it is Rick,
the garbage man.