A TRIP TO MENOMINEE

 

A ten-hour road trip to Farm 

Day One, through Chicago and Milwaukee 

Finally a motel in Sheboygan 

And only one eighty-two fifty 

The Marinette Best Western, our local respite 

A grand view of my home town’s skyline 

Scrambled eggs and sausage each breakfast 

We slept like oak logs until nine 

Farm could be featured in “Better Homes and Gardens” 

Jim cleared a new space by the coop 

New roofs on most of the buildings 

A welcoming abode for our group 

Our parents’ presence was everywhere 

The organ refinished by Doris 

Vic’s photos, oils, and stained glass 

A paradise they passed on to us 

Jennifer, Wynn, and Ingrid drove here from Seattle

Jacob and Delphine flew in from Brooklyn 

Justin, Alex, and Leo traveled from NOLA 

Katja and I, the last to come in 

Justin has great fun with his cousins 

Many jokes, lots of laughter and smiles

An only child, his cuz are like siblings 

Well worth it to travel those miles 

The youth had their fun time at Farm 

Shooting B-B’s, riding bikes, doing art 

Alex and Leo and Ingrid and Delphine 

Growing up evermore and so smart 

Co-Co and Osa were also there 

Seattle poodles, filled with play 

They raced about, rolled over on their backs 

Delighting the humans every day 

Justin was teaching his kids to drive 

Back and forth on our road, M-3 Drive 

This struck me as a little bit scary 

But they both gave their dad a high-five 

Menominee’s the new home of six cannabis stores 

They’re lined up on Highway Forty-One 

I askedif I could buy a few gummies 

Katja scowled, “No way under the sun”

Justin brought us pasties for supper 

A reminder we were in the U.P. 

I have to conclude they were tasty 

Eaters gobbled them up with such glee. 

On Saturday we did all the yard sales 

A great buy, Katja’s colorful rooster 

Justin found me a Maroon tennis cap 

Now I’ll be an out-of-town booster 

We toured the Marinette thrift shops 

Goodwill and St. Vincent de Paul 

One buck for a Menominee River T-shirt 

Plus “Oconto Golf”, quite a good haul 

We devoured our burgers at Mickey-Lu 

They’re voted the tastiest in the state 

Butter burgers and scrumptious buns 

Plus thick chocolate malts, flat-out great 

Main Street Antiques was thriving 

The top floor, Rusty Wolfe’s fine art 

I searched for Lundgren Drugstore bottles 

Once again my fruitless quest broke my heart

I love to cruise around the Loop 

The best part is Menekaunee 

I told the kids, there’s a murder each week 

I’m not totally sure they believed me 

Every day we hung out in the gazebo 

I’d say Jennifer’s the life of the party 

She reminds me a lot of her dad 

With the bonus that she’s much more arty 

Jim and Sharon paid us a visit 

The longstanding caretakers of Farm 

They keep the property shipshape 

And guard it from every kind of harm 

A family night out at Berg’s Landing 

A long-time tradition from Vic 

Walleye for me, filet mignon for Katja 

Berg’s continues to excel at their trick 

We did a quick tour of Henes Park 

The new bathhouse, a splendid addition 

The views of Green Bay are glorious 

John B. Henes accomplished his mission 

We accompanied Jacob to the river 

Vicki’s property was again looking swell 

We had a nice chat with neighbor Troy 

He still dreams that my sister might sell 

Jacob treated us to lunch at Jozwiak’s 

Their famous burger, the Wabash 

Vic and Doris’s favorite hangout 

Beer and burgers, they spent lots of cash 

Before we knew it, the time came to leave 

Tons of family photos in the front yard 

Hugs and kisses and sayonaras 

Goodbyes are always too hard 

I’m pleased that we came on this trip 

It keeps me in touch with my history 

The river, the bay, the forests, the town 

A world that enjoys its own mystery

UNALTERABLE JOY

 

Every five or six months

my father would bundle us up 

and take us after hours

to my grandfather’s Rexall drugstore

on Electric Square. 

Inside the dark store he’d let us loose

behind the soda fountain, 

encouraging us to create any ice cream 

concoction we wanted. 

The only rule: if we made it 

we had to eat it. 

As the oldest of four 

I always constructed 

the most mammoth sundae.

Six giant scoops of ice cream, 

a mix of vanilla, strawberry, 

chocolate, and butter brickle. 

Then the tongue-teasing syrups:

butterscotch, cherry, raspberry, 

chocolate, strawberry, 

peppermint, caramel, 

Topped off with globs of whipped cream, 

a fistful of crushed nuts, 

and three maraschino cherries. 

Maybe even a banana. 

So magnificent, so delicious. 

If we finished and were still hungry, 

we’d simply make another. 

Holy moly cajoley. 

These were the most thrilling 

moments of my youth. 

My father was a stoical man, 

born of Swedish Lutheranism 

and hardly taken to extremes, 

but he’d suffer uncharacteristic 

lapses into hedonism, 

and his offspring 

were the fortunate beneficiaries.

FATHER'S DAY

 

My father died in 1993. 

It’s been very strange all these years. 

not having a father. 

Actually kind of scary. 

My father took us to the drugstore after hours 

to eat all the ice cream we wanted. 

Towed us behind the car on the toboggan. 

Introduced us to Louis Armstrong and Benny Goodman. 

Bought the World Book Encyclopedia to enlighten the youth. 

Also a Hammond Chord Organ. 

Let me charge all the gasoline I wanted 

at Cooney’s Standard Oil station. 

Taught me how to do water color and oil painting. 

Rowed the boat when 

we swam across the River to Pig Island. 

Hid quarters and dimes in the sofa 

where my siblings and I found them. 

Took our Christmas trees to the body shop 

and had them painted red or blue. 

Bought me my first camera, 

my microscope, 

a tape recorder. 

Took our family in the boat 

to Indian Island for picnics 

with our dog Mike swimming behind. 

Also to the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago. 

And the Chicago Art Institute. 

Erected a basketball hoop above the garage door. 

Took Steven and me on a trip to Mexico. 

Hired me as a drugstore clerk 

and paid me 25 cents an hour. 

Paid my way through Antioch College.  

Treated Katja and me to a French Riviera stay.

Held family reunions at Farm every August.  

I have to say Vic was a terrific dad. 

I miss you.

MY MOTHER

 

My mother grew up in the flapper age 

The Roaring Twenties, the Charleston the rage 

Her life path was shaped by that stage 

My mother could have been a Hollywood star 

Her beauty cream was kept in a porcelain jar 

The fairest of the P.T.A. mothers by far 

My mother raised four kids in all 

A rowdy bunch who thought life a brawl 

When gobsmacked, she smoked a Pall Mall 

My mother was enamored of flowers 

Cultivating her garden for hours 

Her green thumb had wondersome powers 

My mother taught us all the birds’ names 

Bird-watching was one of our games 

Wild turkeys and pheasants, our aims 

My mother had slogans galore 

“Eat your beans Suzy,” and more 

Her goal was to shape up her corps 

My mother was a razzmatazz cook 

She mastered Irma’s joyous cookbook 

Broiled whitefish, our extremities shook 

My mother enjoyed a big party 

Sipping cocktails with Jackie and Marty 

Costumes, poetry, swing music, so arty 

My mother would boat on Green Bay 

Mike and Jean, the whole gang for the day 

Fish Creek and Egg Harbor, on the way 

My mother wasn’t keen on affection 

Straight and narrow was her predilection 

For the most part she admired perfection 

My mother’s main value was fun 

She fretted if her children had none 

Told her daughter she oughtn’t be a nun 

My mother saved our Irish Setter Mike 

Who fell through the ice on a hike 

She risked her own life for that tike 

My mother was an avid jazz fan 

For her, Louis Armstrong was the man 

Play some Louis, she’d dance the can-can 

My mother would spank me with a stick 

If she thought I was being a dick 

I wailed so she’d get it done quick 

My mother saved my life at Green Bay 

In deep water, age five, not okay 

No mother, I’d not be here today 

My mother’s whole circle liked to drink 

The Jim Beam sat next to the sink 

Two sips and her cheeks would turn pink 

My mother now and then would go crazy 

If her children proved fractious or lazy 

My memory of those moods gets more hazy 

My mother’s worst habit was smoking 

“Lung cancer, please tell me you’re joking” 

We were scared about surgery and croaking 

My mother and dad loved their Farm 

She decorated the cabin with charm 

A family escape, safe from harm 

My mother adored Lovey, her cat 

White Angora and just a smidge fat 

Lovey’d jump on her lap for a chat 

My mother expired, Eighty-Six 

Of afflictions the docs couldn’t fix 

My plan: Meet for lunch near the Styx

AFTER A DEATH IN THE FAMILY

 

The wind so harsh at dusk, 

the dark clouds menacing, 

even the dog 

just wants to go home. 

Our crosswalk is so dangerous.

The red light, that guy 

didn’t even slow down. 

We’ll get hit one of these nights. 

My neighbor’s magnolia tree saddens me. 

The frost returned 

and its blossoms turned black, 

shriveled up, 

fluttered to the sidewalk. 

That sums it all up. 

Shriveled, withered. 

Things make no sense, 

our world is coming to pieces. 

I watch the dog, 

sniffing at a clump of weeds. 

He seems to be saying, 

be patient, this too will pass.

LOOKING IN THE MIRROR

Each time I look in the mirror 

I’m more amazed. 

Who do I see looking back at me 

but my own father. 

Gone for thirty years 

but visiting from the Great Beyond. 

Since we now share the same age, 

we could actually be twins. 

Gray hair, receding hairline, 

baggy eyes, 

wrinkles I don’t recognize. 

Even my sly grin 

is just like his in his final years. 

I am pleased 

that my father’s spirit 

has chosen to return. 

I’m tempted to speak to him 

but that might ruin the illusion.

Instead I just smile 

and give a wink. 

My father in turn smiles 

and winks back at me.

OLDIES IN NEW ORLEANS

Excited to be back in our favorite city

J and K's new home, so spacious and pretty

They’ve moved to Wirth Place 

For our youth, a new base 

And don’t forget Li’l Paws and the kitty 

Our first night, J made Skyline Chili 

NOLA Skyline might sound a bit silly 

But it tasted so good 

We knew that he could 

This Big Easy creation was a dilly 

The Southern Jewish Museum is grand 

Gripping stories presented firsthand 

It touched upon fears 

And we shed a few tears 

Jews making the rural South their homeland 

K brought us to lunch at Freret Faire 

Rouse’s deli with their own pastrami flair 

The guy messed up our check 

Saved five dollars by heck 

I stayed silent, pretended we were square 

Our grandkids’ report cards, straight A’s 

Their teachers had nothing but praise 

Math and English and art 

To excel takes such heart 

Eighth grade mastered, A and L do amaze 

Dat Dog has the fanciest treats 

Alligator sausage, weirdest of meats 

We took a bench outside 

Stuffed our guts till we cried 

Then rode home on the bumpiest streets 

We went to the Newman High game 

Arch Manning’s already gained fame 

He’s headed for Texas 

Perhaps with a Lexus 

But Arch’s team, I must say, they looked lame 

To the Quarter and the famous Redfish Grill 

Delicious plus a not-too-bad bill 

For me, a po-boy

Raw oysters, Katja’s joy 

Redfish chefs have the best Cajun skill 

Thanksgiving p.m., to the track 

People costumed like Lulu and Mac 

Our group bet some dough 

But our nags were too slow 

So we bugged out, came home for a snack 

J cooked up a twenty-pound turkey 

Filled its skin with butter, so quirky 

All the family did sides 

Boosted triglycerides 

So scrumptious we all felt quite perky 

At the Orleans Historic Collection 

A tour of Notre Dame’s resurrection 

Viewed a digital display 

Filmed from every which way 

Holy Moly, this cathedral nears perfection 

 Off to Marsalis Park, the Art Mart 

 Paintings, jewelry, we loved every part 

 Classic New Orleans scenes 

 And the pics of drag queens 

 All that beauty infuses one’s heart 

Ted’s Frostop is a circa fifties diner 

Never been to a diner that’s finer 

Their burgers were tops 

Not to mention soda pops 

Dreamed up by some kitschy designer 

We shopped at the parkway Goodwill 

My black leather belt, such a thrill 

It cost just six bucks

And it’s ultra-deluxe 

It will last till I’m in the landfill 

Our group did the Museum of Art 

Black photographers, portraits so smart 

Bourgeois in acrylic 

Surreal scenes idyllic 

Too sad that we had to depart 

We watched the Big Ten’s top-ranked game 

U. of M., O.S.U., such acclaim 

And wonder of wonders 

The Buckeyes made blunders 

And our Wolverines affirmed their fierce name 

M.S. Rau sells antiques and fine art 

It helps set Royal Street apart 

Picasso, a million two 

Chagall prices, “Whew Whew” 

A million-dollar chess set tickled my heart 

La Crepe Nanou on our very last night 

The perfect wind-up ahead of our flight 

My salmon was delicious 

The dessert was capricious 

Nanou was a connoisseur’s delight 

To the airport, beignets at Morning Call 

Big jolts of strong coffee for all 

So sad to be leaving 

Already we’re grieving 

This trip, we agree, was a ball

OUR U.P. ROAD TRIP: A VILLANELLE

 

A grand adventure with our frisky CR-V 

Passing Milwaukee the very first day 

We are back in the wild and wondrous U.P.  

Lunch break at Culvers in Wausaukee 

Butterburgers, custard, our diets now astray 

A grand adventure with our frisky CR-V 

The Interstate Bridge to Menominee 

Sheridan Road tracks the shore of Green Bay 

We are back in the wild and wondrous U.P. 

Our family is here, such hoopla and glee 

The kids at Farm do their artwork and play 

A grand adventure with our frisky CR-V 

Katja does the fudge store, the thrift shops for me 

My birthday at Berg’s Landing, the high point of our stay 

We are back in the wild and wondrous U.P. 

A time to share, be laid back and carefree 

It feeds one’s soul to travel so far away 

A grand adventure with our frisky CR-V 

We are back in the wild and wondrous U.P.

THANKS

Thanks to my mother and father

    who raised us all to have good lives

Thanks to my siblings 

     best playmates and friends 

 Thanks to my teachers over 22 years 

     Miss Herscheid and Miss Guimond 

     Mr. Taylor, Mr. Eidt, and Mr. Biller 

     Dr. Eng, Dr. Filler, and Dr. Jerome

     Dr. Miller, Dr. Swanson, and Dr. Newcomb 

         who kept my brain buzzing 

 Thanks to Antioch College 

     which taught me I was a beatnik 

     but shaped my life direction nonetheless 

 Thanks to the University of Cincinnati 

     which gave us shelter, resources, and life tasks 

 Thanks to Justin and Kiersta 

     for special times, fun, and pride 

 Thanks to our grandkids Alex and Leo

     our hope for the future 

Thanks to our many friends over the years 

     who fill our bank with good memories 

Thanks to Dr. Cleves and Dr. Rabkin 

     who keep us kicking and plugging along 

 Thanks to all our family dogs over the years 

     for their unconditional love 

 Thanks to OLLI poetry teachers 

     who have kept me busy in retired life 

 Thanks to Katja for 

     marrying me 

     giving birth to our son 

     buying me motorcycles

     buying us dogs 

     making salisbury steak 

     taking me to the opera

Quicksand Terrors

The Best of Times

My father came home from the war

but we still didn’t have any money

so we moved out of town

into my dead grandpa’s cottage on the river.

Set among the great oaks

the only house on the whole River Road.

No electricity, no telephone

no running water, no indoor toilet.

In the winter it took the county

three days to come and plow.

Our own private school holidays.

We pioneers of the Great White North

like Daniel Boone or Paul Bunyan himself.

My job every evening

was to light the candles

and the two kerosene lanterns

on the living room mantle. 

Our water came from the pump out front.

I carried the buckets to my mother

to fill the dog’s bowl, to brush our teeth.

Before bedtime I walked my little brother to the outhouse

keeping an eye out for creatures of the night. 

We took our baths in the river

even my mother and father

though I learned many years later

that our river was dirty. 

My happiest times in those years on River Road

were walking with my dad to the city dump

a half mile up the road

pulling my red wagon behind us

to carry home the treasures we found. 

I searched for bottle caps

to add to my collection

while my dad looked for household furnishings.

A bedside table with a broken leg

a discarded flower vase

an ashtray from somebody’s Florida vacation

rusty old tools.

We lacked this and that but

we loved our life on the river.

The swimming, our green rowboat

with its one horsepower motor,

birches and pines, expeditions to Pig Island.

After two years the Meads and the Orths built houses nearby

and the county installed electric lines on River Road.

Our world would never be quite the same.

Sibling Limericks

Four kids, we were much like a flock of sheep

A fractious bunch, even with Bo Peep 

Our mother watched over this frisky lot

Like ewes in the pasture, ready to trot

Sweet memories when I’m going to sleep 

  

Steven is like a New Year’s Eve blast

A rowdy youth, his chums called him fast 

He imbibed a strong drink

Gave the girls a wink 

And never lamented his past  

Peter is like a museum of art

A passion for beauty runs through his heart 

A photo artiste

Paint and brush, he’s a beast 

A Renaissance man from the start 

Vicki, our sis, like a jazz quartet 

Soulful music though sometimes she’ll fret 

A minor’s her key

Her riffs give us glee 

Such vocals we’ll never forget 

David is more like a cemetery at night

Moody, morose, often poised for flight

Quiet as a tomb

His mind toys with doom

But with siblings he feels less uptight

As a family we’re sort of a Swedish stew

All these fine flavors go into the brew  

True, no two are alike 

A happy medium we strike  

And that said, I will bid you adieu

Circa 1949: An Anaphoric Poem

I remember icicles that stretched from the roof to the ground

I remember pulling bloodsuckers from between our toes after swimming

I remember lugging my red wagon to the city dump with my dad to bring home good stuff

I remember capturing garter snakes from under the rocks in my mother’s garden

I remember swimming across the river with my dad following in the rowboat

I remember listening in on the neighbors on our party-line phone

I remember a flock of pheasants parading through our front yard

I remember stealing carrots and blackberries from Mrs. Mead’s garden

I remember when our road turned to mud in the spring and we couldn’t go to school

I remember climbing with my siblings to the top of the willow tree

I remember being scared of quicksand when we walked in waist-deep water to Mr. Shaver’s

I remember slashing my thumb with a hatchet on a Pig Island camping trip

I remember biking to the Ideal Dairy to buy lemon flake ice cream, two dips for a nickel

I remember the six-foot pine snakes that sunned in our front yard

I remember when our Irish Setter Mike fell through the ice and my mother rescued him

I remember poking sticks into an anthill and watching the ants go crazy

I remember my eating mother’s whitefish, pot roast, and potato sausage

I remember counting “I love you, I love you not” with the petals of a Black-Eyed Susan

I remember running barefoot races in the snow

I remember my dad towing us behind the car on our toboggan

I remember listening to Jack Benny and Duffy’s Tavern on Sunday night radio

I remember emptying dead bodies from the mousetraps

I remember when they opened the dams and drained all the water out of the river

I remember finding lost change under the sofa cushions (which my dad had

deliberately put there)

I remember when I threw acorns at my brother and he fell out of the oak tree

I remember singing “Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall” at the outdoor fireplace

I remember my parents and their friends drinking Silver Cream beer

I remember when we killed the flying bat in our living room with a cast iron frying pan

I remember loving Captain Marvel comic books

I remember when the ice went out on “Chinese Bells Day”

I remember my uncle Karl urging me to dig up the “Indian burial mound” in our

back yard

I remember when Steve and I spilled red airplane dope on our brand new carpet

I remember being scared of the ghosts while riding my bike past the cemetery at night

I remember blowing milkweed seeds into the wind

I remember when Steve shot the snapping turtle with our bow and arrow

I remember my mother telling me I wasn’t perfect

I remember our dog swimming behind the boat when we traveled half a mile for a family 

picnic on Indian Island

I remember when we saw a mud puppy through the ice on the river’s floor

I remember collecting nightcrawlers for fishing on the cemetery lawn after a heavy rain

I remember when our dog Mike got porcupine quills stuck in his nose

I remember when Steve and I lit the hoop with a desk lamp so we could

play basketball at night on the frozen driveway

I remember when we shot at tin cans and bottles in the river with the twenty-two

I remember everything about being twelve years old

Knotty Questions

“How old are you, Grandpa?” Leo asked

I paused for a moment

“Eighty-two next month” 

The children gazed at me with wonder 

“How do you get to be that old?” Vida asked

“Think pure thoughts,” I said

“And work hard — don’t let yourself be lazy”

We had just finished breakfast

Pancakes, bacon, maple syrup

Their parents had driven off to work 

My first all-day test as a sitter 

“How old do you think is old?” I asked

“Twenty-five,” Vida suggested

“No, thirty,” Leo argued

I agreed, “Thirty sounds good”

“Thirty, maybe even more”

We were sitting on the carpet

playing with the children’s toy cars

I had the yellow car

The children green and purple

Here I am, I thought to myself

Nearing the last stages of my life

While the children have

most of theirs left 

“”Vroom vroom vroom,” I roared

pushing my race car from side to side

“Vroom vroom vroom,” the children repeated

chasing one another toward the piano bench

There are many things we can learn from each other

Grandparents, grandchildren

Such different places, eons apart

I know a few things about growing older

But the children have much more to teach 

about the secrets of being young  

Autobiographical: A 7 x 7 x 7 Poem*

Firstborn son to Doris, Vic 

Menominee, Michigan

Thick of the Great Depression 

Off to Washington Grade School

Littlest kid in the class

Number two at spelling

Though next to last at marbles 

Age nine, we moved out of town

Our pine house on the river 

My two brothers, my sister

Not one other kid nearby

Irish setters, Mike, Micky

Swimming with the bloodsuckers

Basketball versus Steven 

Soon Menominee High School

Good at English, math, and art 

Wood shop, probably the worst 

Clerked at Grandfather’s drugstore 

Cruised with chums around the loop

Too shy to have a girlfriend

Braces in my senior year

Antioch by accident      

First an engineering nerd

Then Lit, then Psychology

Second year I fell in love

Wore our berets like beatniks 

Drank a lot of three-two beer 

Married Katja at the end 

Graduate school a nightmare             

Big Ten, Michigan football  

My dissertation, good grief

Six years, then off to Cincy

Joint appointment, Psych and Soc

An anxious classroom teacher

Struggling to get tenure

Justin born in sixty-nine

We bought our house in Clifton

Katja, teacher, social work

Such insane tennis parents

We lost our fathers, mothers

Then three brothers, much too young 

Hikes with sheepdogs and a friend

I retired, 2-0-0-9

Joined the gym, took line dancing 

Started OLLI, back to school

Writing loony poetry

Family visits to NOLA 

Grandkids, Vida and Leo

And that’s my story to date

    *7 stanzas; 7 lines per stanza; 7 syllables per line (plus a 7-syllable title)

A Son's Dream

Last night I dreamt about my dad

No longer ill, back in his prime

We shared a hug, we both were glad

Last night I dreamt about my dad

His tragic end, I’ve long been sad

Memory loss, a grievous crime

Last night I dreamt about my dad

No longer ill, back in his prime

Parenthood

February 1969

A noisy gathering at Ann and Clyde’s 

In the midst of the revelry

Katja (my dear wife) said to the group 

“I have an announcement”

She blushed a bit

then proceeded to explain

that she was going to have a baby

I was stunned

The first I’d heard

“But you are taking the pill,” I said

“Not for several months,” she replied

“But we never talked about this,” I said

She reminded me I’d suggested

a maternity rider to our insurance

Which was true although 

it wasn’t exactly the same

We attended Natural Childbirth classes

and they taught me to help with Katja’s breathing

The fateful day came

We rushed to Christ Hospital

I sat at Katja’s bedside and

said in my most calm voice

“Breathe….breathe….breathe….”

She yelled (uncalmly)

“I am breathing goddammit!”

Minutes later the doctor suggested 

it might be best 

if I were to wait in the waiting room

Katja was in labor for twenty-six hours

Midway she started yelling out

“It’s my turn, it’s my turn”

But they refused to honor her place in the line

The next day we had a newborn son

Justin or Barnaby?  I asked

She had liked Justin

I leaned toward Barnaby 

“Justin” his mother said

We were nervous parents

Our new baby had his own room

We’d lie awake at night

listening for his breathing

When we couldn’t hear anything

we’d leap out of bed and tiptoe in

Sure enough, he would be breathing gently

That was nearly a half century ago

Justin now has two kids of his own

Even though they live far away in New Orleans

late at night we still listen

to hear if our young son is 

breathing in the next room