In light of the virus,
the extravert just
wants to stay home.

He went out today
and encountered
drivers who ran up

his butt and clerks
that blew him off
and he wanted in

the worst way to
say hostile things
but, by the grace

of God, he just
said, “Yeah, life
is tough now,”

and disarmed the
otherwise really
nice clerk who

just said, “Yeah.”

So, I took eighty-eight empty sparkling water
cans back to the grocery store to be recycled and
to get back my deposit. The machine couldn’t

read the barcode. I was told to go to the desk
and consult management. I did. She said, “OSHA
won’t allow us to take any cans over the counter.

(She must have repeated this ten times in just
the few moments I stood at the counter for help.)
You will have to go to another one of our stores

and try there.” I didn’t know anything about
prohibitions about “counters.” I traveled across
town to another store in the chain. It didn’t

work. She had said that I could try back later.
The problem I was told by the guy helping me with
the recycling was with the barcode on the can.

Later wouldn’t change anything. What will I do?
Go back and demand eight dollars and eighty
cents? And failing satisfaction on that request,

dump the cans all over the grocery store floor
(a thought in a more vengeful moment)? Take
them back in a grocery cart and just leave them?

Toss them in the recycling at home for the
garbage man? Just use a sparkling water maker
and forget the cans? Dilemmas during a pandemic.

Two months ago
he had surgery

and was wrapped
in a body wrap.

He was told to
wear it for a couple

of weeks to pro-
mote healing.

Two months later,
now and then,

he still wears it.
It feels like you.

He stopped at the wooden
bowl factory, a place he had
never been before. In the dis-
play room he saw carved bowls
of wood native to the area. The
owner said the bowls are made
from felled wood, potentially go-
ing to waste. He spied the section
of bowls with imperfections and
found a beautiful walnut bowl
with a minor flaw. He said, “I’ll
take this one, beautiful but flaw-
ed — just like me.”

The man had his annual physical
      and it was thumbs up, all points go.
             He’s a year older than the temporary

occupant, considerably lighter in
     weight and a life-long exerciser, but
          we are told that the occupant is in

the best shape of any president in
     history, maybe any human. The vice-
         occupant says the occupant is in

incredibly GREAT shape and, yes,
     it is just that — incredible, just like
          everything else that comes out of

their mouths. The veep can’t recall
     being put on alert when the occu-
          pant was rushed off to the hospital

for reasons yet to be divulged just
     like his taxes. Perhaps the veep
          should take whatever it is that the

occupant takes to stay a stable
     genius as the occupant holds the
          water glass with both hands, teeters

at the dais and limps off the stage
     while the man celebrates his physical
          exam with a wonderful summer cycle.

We try to remain hopeful while
in the grip of the occupant’s lunacy
— someone who is so infantile
he stomps to destroy community,

and in his tantrums sputters gibberish
that his base takes as holy writ;
they grab assault rifles while feverish
to go out and kill in a misguided fit.

Is there no end to the insanity
of someone who is so hollow,
who operates completely on vanity
expecting everyone to follow?

There is only one recourse
for us citizens that is left.
Something we cannot force
but something that demands our best.

And that one sacred, cherished recourse?
For all, all, all to vote, vote, vote, of course!!!

The dogs tell us about love, life and
death. They prepare us if we just look.
The big ones tell us most quickly be-
cause they don’t last as long as little
ones. We’ve had four big ones and are

now on our fifth — all Chocolate Labs.
The first at ten jumped out of the car
and froze his hind legs. He cried so
hard on the day we had to put him
down. He heard my voice as I entered

the vet’s office and he waled. And
then we did, too. The second, the
first of the rescues, lasted a year
giving us his unconditional love and
appreciation before the cancer went

to his brain. We figure he was about
ten. The third, another rescue, was
the one who ran like the wind and
wouldn’t come out of the water when
we called. By grace we had him for

six years. His throat froze with
paralysis. He suffocated. We figure
he was about ten. The fourth rescue
lasted four years. He would sit and
stare at us with kindness and over-

whelming appreciation. If I didn’t
feel well and would lie down on the
couch, he would come and lie down
next to me. He collapsed from liver
cancer and sepsis. We figure he was

about ten. And now we have our first
female, a magnificent breeder dog.
She was six when we adopted her. Now
eight, she has significant arthritis
in her hips. We know what’s coming.

Because of their love and their lives,
their suffering and death, we know
what is coming for us. They tell us
everything we need to know. All we
have to do is listen and look.

I’m beginning to understand.
I read accounts of and watch
Blacks crying about always
being afraid.
I am afraid,
afraid of leaving the wonder,
serenity and security
of my home — my domicile.
We are told to imagine that
everyone has the virus
that could kill you.
There are those who in
their own fear, anger and resentment
would kill you.
There are those who would
kill you for “the cause.”
Be very quiet.
Don’t stare out of eyes
above the mask at other eyes.
That could get you killed.
Do what you must
and then go home;
get home before
you are killed.
I’m beginning to understand.

This will end.
It might end well.
If so, we will limp while recovering
before we once more walk and run.
If it doesn’t end well,
we will suffer more.
There will be great suffering
but the end will come.
It always does.
When the enablers (sycophants
clinging like abused children)
are disabled
and the perpetrators are exposed
for what they are
(and perhaps, if even able,
own up to what they are),
they will self-destruct.
It always happens that way.
The suffering survivors will heal and mend
and, eventually, walk and run.

Recently, when the Temporary Occupant was touting what his administration is doing for the public school system, people on the internet suggested that he go back and finish grade school.

In the following edited note to a friend today, I suggested that America is in the tenth grade:

What I am observing in America is what I would describe as a country at the sophomoric stage of development — arrogant, know-it-all while knowing very little, a “me, me, me” view of life. This, of course, has been reinforced by an over-emphasis on constitutional “freedom” and “individual rights,” with almost no reference to the Preamble’s emphasis on “promoting the general welfare” — our community/communal context.

Unfortunately, this phase is being exploited by what I believe to be truly demonic forces bent on solidifying and guaranteeing the success of the quest for power for the very few and wealth for the coffers of those same few and the delusional thought that the fearful and resentful base could all be Horatio Alger, which of course is a myth. It’s the devil quoting scripture to seduce a nation. I hope we, as a nation, will surmount this tawdry debacle and move toward the next step in maturity, that being h.s. juniors and seniors.

Bob