He has twenty copies
of his and his daughter’s
first book in a box in
the storage room. There
is an error in the table
of contents, which was
discovered after pub-
lication. Neither he nor
his daughter liked the
looks of the hardcover
copy and decided that a
corrected version in paper-
back would be better.
He can’t burn them for
two reasons: one, there
is the matter of the
horrible image of book
burnings and what that
has meant even though
this would not be for
censorship reasons and
two, the hardcover is
made of material that
would pollute the en-
vironment and so there
they sit — the twenty,
lonesome, forlorn,
imperfect, rejected
copies. They feel like
family. Every once in
a while, he goes down
and pats the box on
the back while shield-
ing his nose from the
flying dust.

He grew up in a culture
that valued working with

one’s hands, an immigrant
culture, a farming culture.

He loved to read and he
loved going to the movies

and, in time, while at
college, he learned to

love theater and dance.
He pursued a major in

theater, the dream being
to teach on the college

level. He excelled at the
technical side — light-

ing, sets. He had rough,
laborer hands — thick,

calloused fingers but
as a professor at a small,

liberal arts college, he
had to do it all and you

could see, by his enthus-
iasm, how much he en-

joyed directing — stand
here, mark that spot on

the stage. One day while
instructing a class on

how to build flats, he
absently mentioned that

his old, farmer father
once told him, “Those

who can’t do, teach.”
With that, he chuckled

faintly and then hammer-
ed the daylights out of

that poor, innocent piece
of stage scenery.

We are all going crazy with this
guy in the Oval Office. Seriously,
it is a fact that we need a
leader, a truly benevolent,
compassionate, empathic
person who will bring
unity, peace and love,
uphold the Constitution,
obey the law, deflect
praise, lift up others,
be humble, self-
effac-
ing, self-confident,
not pride-filled,
have a genuine
sense of humor,
be a secular
good shepherd(ess),
enabling a noble
spirit among
citizens and
then there is
what we have
and we are
all going
crazy.

This is really, really serious — serious
for us — individuals, families,
communities, villages,
towns, townships,
counties, cities,
states — the
United
States.

People, legislators keep saying,
in reference to the occupant
of the Oval Office, that they
hope he will change. He will
not change, cannot change. He
is incapable of self-reflection
or self-criticism. Please
stop being political and
saying that you hope he
will change. It’s a sick-
ness: he cannot change.
We are going crazy and
we need to do the only
thing that can be
done — VOTE HIM
OUT OF OFFICE
and save our
precious
Republic.

The mayor proclaimed
the community is on tenter-
hooks, while taking aim
at that which was to blame —
meaning
stretched to the point of
breaking (?) — or a state of
uneasiness, strain,
or suspense,
the dictionary’s way.
Either way,
it’s not okay
for an American city
to feel stretched in that way.
The same
we could say
is the way
it is down El 
Paso way —
We should be floating
down the Rio Grande
not burying legislative heads
in the sand.
El Paso on tenterhooks,
not fishing bubbling brooks.
not the still, serene waters
of the bucolic Boundary Waters
but tenterhooks —
stretched to breaking
or a state of
uneasiness, strain,
or suspense,
not a place
for American space
that makes any sense.
It makes sense
in the Chicago River
to paddle a canoe
or a kayak
or visit the Lincoln Park
or Brookfield Zoo
or in a National Park
go on a backpack
trip, but it isn’t okay
in this day
for cities to be
on tenterhooks —
maybe stretched
to breaking,
this very day.
It’s not okay.
It’s just not okay.
It’s simple:
CONTROL the guns
the mayor did say.

The well-coiffed, white woman sat at
the bar in the upscale hotel talking
non-stop at the woman she was with

about how much she loved her church
and how wonderful it is to be a
Christian and how when she travels

out of the country how glad she is to
get back to such a great Christian
nation. As she spoke she found time

to raise her glass of Pinot Grigio
to her lips and as she did, her Gucci
watch and bracelets jangled. When

she tossed her head back, her neckless,
just above her scoop-necked, expensive
blouse, glimmered in the summer’s

descending sun. Her companion’s hus-
band arrived and the woman excused
herself with the announcement that

she was late for her pedicure. When
she got up, she said to the couple
that she was sure they were at the

right place to make the decision for
Jesus. She tossed several singles
onto the bar complaining that the

cabbie in “D.C.” who drove her to the
plane, paid her back in them. As
she walked off, she made a statement

with her cut-off, designer jeans
and just the right height open-toed
clogs. She moved too quickly to see

how badly she might need that pedicure.

Everyone looks at their phones constantly;
there is no excuse,
no matter where they may be,
so, if I send an e-mail
and don’t hear back without fail,
those e-mail addresses are deemed obsolete
and I just jump up,
wipe my hands and dust off my feet.
I will oblige,
no hard feelings to hide.
Perhaps, my missives
are dismissive
and considered just a bother;
no hard feelings, they won’t get another.
I get the delay
and adios I will say.
They don’t want contact, it’s obvious,
so, as far as I’m concerned, to them, I’ll be oblivious.
Friends come and go,
so, come rain or snow,
come gloom of night, come the day’s heat,
that particular address I’ll simply delete.
Bye, bye.
Oh, look what just came in;
wouldn’t you know it?
They’ve been on a phone-free vacation.
I love these guys.

It is time to travel upstream,
not to die like salmon
but to live like steady, friendly, social bream
to catch life’s spiritual fun.

The theologian said, “Headwaters,”
where moving through the shallow stream,
brothers, sisters, sons and daughters
would find water deep and life might teem —

one race, all children of God
frolicking and emerging;
they dash, applaud, are awed
by love’s journey converging

at the headwaters of life’s eternal stream.

*idea from a Richard Rohr meditation
quoting Cynthia Bourgeault

The man reads the headlines online every
day and knows that things might never again
be okay. He thinks of himself as a mature,

balanced adult but sometimes his shock
goes to shrieks at the outrageous, racist
rants and the rollover, play-dead response

from unresponsive legislators when minor-
ities are actually dead on arrival, and he
goes into a primal scream and misdirected

verbal aggression and then he calms down,
feels guilty but still wonders why his neigh-
bors in his quiet neighborhood don’t stand

out in front of their homes and scream bloody
murder on occasion at what is happening.
But they don’t. The timid, mostly members

of the silent generation have decided that
he’s the identified family problem for dis-
turbing the peace. He just doesn’t fit in and

then he considers a wise friend’s question,
“Why have we taken so few steps from the
face of the cave?” He looks at his front door.

There are in America fewer people than guns
We always feel that we won’t be the ones

Who are in school, a church, a store
When a shooter appears to kill yet more

Every gun death diminishes you and me
Something self-involved 45 chooses not to see

Blind, too, Kentucky leader, Turtle: will he call Congress back
Or simply wait to endorse gun sales till September, so slack

We owe our existence to sheer chance
That we were absent from bullets that danced.

I’ll avoid public venues, order from Bezos
Till I am summoned to meet Jesus.

*Vicki Hill is a poet and friend of mine.

Don’t ever question why
Kaepernick took a knee;
it is right there in photos
for everyone to see:

A black seller of illegal cigarettes
and the brutal police chokehold death he met;

and a white guy (aiming for Latinos) killing more than twenty,
he stands among police guys —
absolutely, disgustingly extraordinary!
Don’t ever question why

Kaepernick took a knee…
racial justice and equality.

*idea from a post on a twitter site
of a friend.