He saw a photo of a man in an iron
lung and got claustrophobic.
He felt his asthmatic lungs gasping
for air like a swimmer going
down for the third time, so he looked
away from the photo,
thought about that man’s literary
accomplishments all from
that tight space and asked himself,
“About what do I have
to complain? My asthma has been
completely under control
for four years and I am going for
an afternoon jog with my
chocolate lab?” He began deep breath-
ing with “Breathe in
God; breathe out gratitude; breathe
in God; breathe out grace;
breathe in God; breathe out awe
for the strength of the man
who lived in the iron lung.” He was
grateful that he had the air
to breathe that prayer in and out.

“Tis better to have had
‘friendship’ and lost
than never to have had
‘friendship’ at all” to
paraphrase a phrase —
except when it happens
that the condition of
friendship is no apolog-
ies for misbehavior, at
which point he realized
there had been no friend-
ship at all — just two
guys yucking it up for
fifty years about this,
that and essentially no-
thing. “Why,” he now asks
himself, “did it take me
so very, very long to catch
on?”

You say I am coming
from a dark place;
could you be projecting
into that space?
I saw that anger
fueled dark side —
that which you had sought
so desperately to hide;
we saw your anger fueled
dark side;
and she, intimately, knows
that anger fueled
dark side;
it just erupted,
and look what you did,
you ran into a room and hid
until you were called out
and you acted as if nothing
had been found out —
oh, deep denial.
At our advanced age,
friend, can we still learn
the self-freedom we yearn?
It is my hope that we can
but we may never speak again,
and that is my deep, deep grief,
but I stand by my belief,
so here is a tip from
one seeking not to offend:
Yes, we all have a dark side
which we need to disarm
and befriend
and for which we need
to make amends,
so “Know thyself,”
befriend
your demons and mend
and maybe, just maybe, we
will play together again,
if not before, then after
this life’s end.

He stood and I saw
anger I had never seen before —
rage really.

People tell me I have no idea
how strong I come across,
but I had no idea I could
provoke — venomous vitriol.

He stood, eyes burning
blood-red,
and he spewed forth four-
letter invectives,

and for a moment,

I thought I was watching
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
in 3D with the chainsaw
headed my way,

It was over in a flash
as if nothing had happened —
but fifty years of a blood
brother’s blood
gushed
all over
the floor until nothing
was left —

nothing — fifty years
of blood

all over the floor —
all over.

He thinks about the man
who had lived such a
hard life — immigrant
kid, motherless at seven,
orphaned at thirteen,
tossed from foster home
to foster home — one
who only saw failure
lurking around the corner
even as he tried so hard
for success, a husband,
a parent, a good guy.
He is destined to be
forgotten. Who will tell
that man’s story if he
doesn’t — even these
brief words?

We love to live along the shore,
in the dune
and hear the water’s roar,
but oh, so soon,

we discovered hostility
lurking all around.
Were we destined for misery;
might an answer be found?

Each spring they fly —
drones of might
circling the sky —
the most deadly termite.

And so a barrier was placed
in the ground
circling our living space
safety all around.

Our house wouldn’t be a hovel;
the wood would not crumble;
we could sigh mightily —
now living in a toxic bubble
with a ten-year warranty.

Six years into retirement
he sometimes wonders,

not often and not that
it bothers him at all

but from mostly six
years worth of gracious

distance, if it all meant
much and then his wife

delivered a note from
many moons before which

said, “I seriously was
considering suicide but

you told a story in your
sermon about a friend

who committed suicide and
simply how much you miss

him and it changed my life.”
He thanked his wife.

The thoughts of a lover
are thoughts that will last
while forgiving over and over
sins of the past.

The pledge of a lover,
if not made in haste,
will continue to hover and hover
being fortified by grace.

The patience of a lover
with years present to past
will grow into future upon future
coming and going too fast.

“Does it take higher intelligence
to be angry, really angry?” he
asks himself because he has had

four chocolate labs and he
has seen anger only once from
one of them in twenty-two years

and that one time the dog was
really, really provoked. “But male
Homo sapiens?” he asks again.

“Holy Cow!” he exclaims in ear
shot of the fourth chocolate lab
who slinks off to the other room.

“How well do you ever know another
person let alone know yourself?”
he was asked by a friend. Not

well, he thinks to himself except
to count on the anger factor. Of
course, he has seen it over and

over and over in violent movies
and on TV at political rallies, and
in himself, for sure, but also, in

good, highly educated, really smart
guys who have learned how to camou-
flage but given the right or wrong

situation of vulnerability let their
guard down and then there it is. Blam!
You can just count on it, he thinks

to himself, If you can count on
anything, you can always count on
male Homo sapiens’ anger. Maybe

it’s that higher intelligence. A really
smart friend, the one who asked him
the question about how well you really

know a person, a friend of fifty years,
got miffed at him and unloaded a barrage
of profanity on him giving him the

feeling he had been slapped up side
the head by a two by four. He thought
again about the friend’s question —

how well do you really know a person?
The question proved prophetic. He shouldn’t
have been surprised. The lab returns.

Maya said, “Nothing human
can be alien to me.
We’re all children of God,
you see.”
“Well, let me see,”
said the old, white man so sad and mad,
“Can illegal aliens be human to me?
I’m comfortable in this place
and I’m bound and determined
to keep this space
of mine for all time.”
For all time
sounds fine
to someone living in
H.G. Wells’ space machine of time,
but that’s just science fiction.
We aren’t soaked in eternal brine.
We have a start and definite benediction
and we’d better be ready to
pass the torch of demographical evolution —
the changing of the guard
to protect those of every race, color and hue
and we’d better start now — that’s me and you,
because “Nothing human is alien to me;
we’re all children of God,”
spoke the prophetic poet Ms. Angelou.