Mike

When we moved to the river in ’46,

we had only one neighbor, Lew Reed

who lived a half mile west on River Road

with his Irish setter, Mike.  

Mike, a handsome specimen, red hair, strong legs,

keen eyes, a noble disposition.   

Lew and Mike would walk down the shore to visit

and we kids would cavort with the dog.

Running and jumping, tossing sticks and balls, 

wading in the river, resting in the sun. 

Soon, whenever Lew let him out, 

Mike would run away and come to our house.

We too him home at the end of the day.   

Finally Lew Reed relented to  fate

and he gifted Mike to our family.

We were thrilled. 

So fantastic

so smart

mature

a loyal companion

calm, affectionate, well-behaved.

Mike camped with us at Mason Park 

Long hikes on the river shore. 

Tossing the football, foot races in the yard.  

In the summer our family took our boat to Indian Island for picnics. 

Four kids, no room in the rowboat for a dog

so Mike swam along behind the boat — 

. . . . . . . . . . . . a half mile or more.

Mike loved chasing the chipmunks on the lawn.

Squirrels too, occasionally a rabbit. 

Each year he would corner a porcupine, 

winding up with a nose full of quills.

Yikes!  Ouch!  Ooooh! 

Off to Dr. Seidl for painful extractions.

A year later he’d forgotten and

he did it all over again. 

One spring afternoon Mike fell through the river ice.

My mother forbade us to leave the house

and she crawled out on the ice on her stomach

to rescue our beloved dog.

My grandfather bought us a second Irish setter in Florida.

We named her Micki and Mike was her mentor. 

Mike trained Micki to never do her business on our lawn.

Instead, they went to the birch grove next door. 

Mike and Micki got into a vicious fight.

My mother intervened, had her forearm ripped open.

At the hospital she forgave the dogs 

and blamed herself instead.  

Mike lived to a ripe old age.

Then one summer day he collapsed outside our door

dead from a stroke.  

I dug his grave in our back pasture.

A deep grave for a large dog.

My sister added a wooden cross that she’d made.    

I remember exactly how that gravedigging felt.

It still brings tears to my eyes. 

Bombs Are On My Mind

              Hiroshima

          August 6, 1945

      the first atomic bomb

80,000 people died in place.

We learned about the A-bomb in our Weekly Reader. 

Harry Truman, Miss Zellinger said,

saved America from destruction.

She taught us about the 

peace-time wonders of atomic energy.

But what stuck in our child-minds —

the firestorms destroying all life on Earth.  

Fourth grade, we had monthly atomic bomb drills

First, we put away all pencils and erasers. 

Then we hid our heads under our desks.

No one understood just why.  

Deeny-Boy thought

maybe radiation can’t go through wood. 

The nineteen-fifties, the superpower arms race.

In my U.P. hometown many believed

we were a likely target of a Russian A-bomb.

From high in the sky, the elders said, we were easily mistaken for

the St. Lawrence Seaway.

If the Russian bombers were off by only a smidgeon…

So long, Menominee County!

My father and Uncle Lars came to a decision.

Our family needed  an @&%*#! atomic bomb shelter.

So, in the basement of my grandfather’s drugstore

they outfitted our room.    

Canned foods, bottled water, graham crackers,

plates and silverware, dish towels, Brillo pads,

flashlights, matches and candles,

extra underwear and socks,

pillows, towels, blankets,

empty paper bags,

comic books, crossword puzzles,

and lastly a portable toilet.

Uncle Lars argued strongly that we needed rifles

in case the townspeople

tried to force their way into our space.  

My father was ambivalent about

killing our neighbors.

So they never did bring in the rifles.

Skip ahead a few years.

My wife and I, students in Ann Arbor.

October 22^nd, 1962, the Cuban Missile crisis.

Nuclear war in the offing.

We were dangerously close to Detroit, a prime target.

Fear, cold sweats.

We thought about driving to the U.P.

to our family bomb shelter.

But then I remembered 

the St. Lawrence Seaway

so we hunkered down with our dog.

Many decades passed

and I almost forgot about atomic bombs.

But now we have a president

who threatens nuclear war with North Korea.

From the air Cincinnati could easily be mistaken for Detroit.

Or Pittsburgh.

Or Cleveland.

   

And we don’t have a family bomb shelter any more.

But at least I learned how to

hide my head under

my desk. 

My Personal Numerology

We had just one mother but she was a wonder 

Our two parents were creatures of the twenties

My dad, a jazz buff; my mom, a flapper

Three boys in our family

Steven, Peter, and myself

Steven and Peter had the most fun 

Baby Vicki arrived

And then there were four

Our parents showered her with affection 

Her older brothers, overcome by envy 

A total of five in Katja’s family

Her folks, Helen and Buck

Sister Ami, a social worker

Brother David, a marketing guy

And Katja, a Romance Language beauty

My family had six altogether 

Vic and Doris, Dave Steve Peter Vicki

We lived together on the riverbank

Rode our bikes two miles to school

Swam all day long in the summertime

And rough-housed with our Irish setters, Mike and Micki

I spent seven young years in grade school

One year at Boswell, then Washington, the rest 

I walked through snow and ice to Boswell School

Learned to spell words and add numbers in Grade One

These were humongous steps in my life 

Glee club in Grade Four, but I was forbidden to sing out loud

I was captain of the Safety Patrol in Grade Six

Which annoyed all the rest of the boys

Later, a graduate student for eight long years

Social Psychology at the U. of M. 

I finished my classes in three or four years

Flunked one prelim but passed the rest

My dissertation took forever

Identity change in sensitivity training groups

I took a faculty job before finishing up

Then almost got fired for taking too long

This was not the most relaxing time

Katja and I, nine wonderful pets 

Four rabbits, Thumper, Moonbeam and Sunbeam, Blazer

Thumper lived to a ripe old age but

Blazer escaped and Moonbeam and Sunbeam were killed by roaming dogs

We’ve had five dogs in our married life

Heather, our sweet Shepherd puppy, died a tragic death

Our poodle, Jacques, was hit by a lumber truck

Winston, our Bedlington, lived till deaf, blind and demented

And sheepdogs Mike and Duffy were our recent sweethearts

Here are ten things I’ve done at least ten times in the last ten months 

Brushed my teeth, made the coffee, and read the paper

Played Spider Solitaire on the computer

Worked out at the fitness center

Written a poem

Bought Gato Negro Malbec ($4.99) at Clifton Market 

Hiked the Badlands Trail at Miami Whitewater Forest

Had a 5-way at Skyline Chili 

Went to my line dancing class

Friday night movies at the Esquire 

Read Superman and watched Frasier at bedtime 

"Possible Side Effects": A Found Poem (from Rx handouts)

It seems like each month I ingest more pills

My doctor assures me they help solve life’s ills

But each drug arrives with a Side Effects list

I’ll tell you a few and you’ll soon get the gist 

Hearing loss, mania, ringing ears, heavy breathing

Joint pain, eye pain, chest pain, bone pain 

Coughing, itching, cold sweats, unusual bleeding

Upset stomach, belching, rapid weight gain 

Trouble moving, trouble swallowing, trouble sleeping, trouble talking 

Nightmares, nose bleeds, hallucinations, amnesia

Diarrhea, clumsiness, problems in walking

Angiderma, xerostomia, tachycardia, asthenia

Tingling feet, numb feet, prickly feet, trembling feet 

Swollen glands, dizziness, skin irritation

Fast breathing, tarry stools, puffy eyelids, slow heartbeat 

Indigestion, constipation, painful urination  

Runny nose, suicide attempts, shivering, sneezing 

Slurred speech, seizures, aggressive acts

Bleeding gums, liver damage, vomiting, wheezing

Dermititis, yellow eyes, panic attacks 

Flatulence, bleeding gums, dark-colored urine

Fever, convulsions, sadness, bad breath 

Dry skin, scaly skin, yellow skin, blue skin 

Acute renal failure, loss of consciousness, death

Most of these side effects aren’t so bad

The most inconvenient, I would guess, is death

But even death keeps your blood pressure low

The worst fate of all: having bad breath 

Deathly Musings

I happened upon death at the age of four

Lying flat on our lawn, a dead crow

My cousin said I’d be dead one day

That’s more than I wanted to know

Then I was eight and in the third grade

Mr. Perkins, our crossing guard, died

We stared at his corpse at the funeral home

Couldn’t rouse him as hard as we tried

I asked my father, “What happens when we die?”

He said that we don’t know for sure

Skipper explained you get eaten by worms

And then you turn into manure

Frankie said no, you fly up to Heaven

Dead relatives are waiting to greet you

That might be good, it might be bad

I had uncles and aunts who’d mistreat you

I don’t believe much in an afterlife

We’re like frogs, we just die and that’s that

My mother always hoped that we’d be together

Not just us but her dogs and her cat

I’m sure that death’s not like a party

And definitely not a trip to Cancun

It’s probably more like an empty black hole

Or an unending Philip Glass tune

Death does get more worrisome the older I get

Some days it seems right around the corner

My funeral is actually what bothers me most

So embarrassing if I don’t have a mourner

And it’s not even death by itself that’s so bad

It’s the dying that is the real bummer

Sometimes it’s quick and sometimes it’s slow

It’s best not to take the whole summer

Death’s a no-brainer for those who are dead

It’s more troubling for those left behind

Once in a while it’s a pleasant event

It depends upon one’s state of mind

In truth, there are quite a few perks to one’s death

You are done with the shots and the pills

No chance you’ll get stuck in a traffic jam

And Visa stops sending its bills

Much more could be said about death

Like pestilence or nuclear war

But I think I will look on the bright side

Make a list of life’s wonders galore

Blood Quest: A Rondeau

Darkness descends, the dawn of night

Translucent forms in pale moonlight

A deathly howl cuts through the air   

And draws a gasp from lady fair

      Who knows not yet her mortal plight  

A black-caped figure, poised to bite

He holds his breath, his eyes closed tight 

His head leans toward her throat so bare

      Darkness descends 

The Count performs his ancient rite

The maiden moans, her breath so slight

The vampire strokes her lush blond hair 

Then bows his head as if in prayer

The victim’s skin, now deathly white

      Darkness descends 

The Winter Olympics

Pyeong Chang 2018 

The Winter Games, so full of life

The skis, the skates, the bobsled track

A time to shelve the world’s strife 

The Winter Games, so full of life

Young ice dancers, man and wife 

Strive to shine and lead the pack 

The Winter Games, so full of life

The skis, the skates, the bobsled track

Lindsey Vonn

Down the slope, eighty miles an hour 

We’ve never seen such strength and power

Cutting corners, thrill upon thrill

Lindsey Vonn, the queen of downhill 

Over eighty World Cup titles

Damage to her limbs and vitals

Many a crutch, many a pill

Lindsey Vonn, the queen of downhill 

Competing now at thirty-three 

Her last Olympics, this must be 

The skier’s credo, speed and will 

Lindsey Vonn, true queen of downhill  

   On the Olympic Ice: A Diamonte

                  Speed-Skater

               Lean,  muscular

        Dodging, darting, lunging

Race, competition, music, costume

       Leaping, twirling, gliding

               Lithe, graceful  

                  Ice-Dancer