Monday, April 17, 2023

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.

Monday, February 20, 2023

POEM NO 42

 

He was rough at the edges. 
Most didn’t see it
because he was 
otherwise smooth as silk. 
But she knew it. 
And she knew 
what was coming next. 

Well, how does this seem so far? 
You can be honest. 
It’s just a first draft, 
though I already suspect 
that it’s fatally flawed. 
I wrote it in my sleep last night. 
I have no idea who these characters are, 
no inkling of what makes them tick. 

I did try revising. 
Here is draft two: 

Because of Pietro’s southern charm, 
his friends were oblivious 
to his innate capacity for cruelty. 
But Elouise had experienced his dark side 
and dreaded what he was going to do. 

Hmm, at least the people now have names. 
But the story line is still the same. 
This poem has no prospects. 
I am going to relegate it to my file labelled 
"Hopeless and Pitiful Unfinished Poems.” 
I must apologize. 
Thanks for hanging in with me. 
Here’s another poem
that I wrote while I was awake 
and having a fish sandwich for lunch:

I do the Wordle to crank up my brain 
When I solve it in four, I never complain 
It’s much like the Jumble 
They both make us humble 
Most of all, they are what keep me sane 

Now I’m confused. 
Which should I pursue? 
Asleep or awake? 
Fifty-fifty? Neither? 
I am curious to hear your thoughts.

Tuesday, January 31, 2023

I THINK I'VE MADE IT

 

In my skittish youth 
I often worried 
I was losing my mind. 
Not the romantic, Byronesque 
version of madness, 
but flaky ideas, 
psychic torment, 
losing my grip. 
I did get through school, 
had several good friends, 
stayed married, 
was a passable father, 
performed my job to its end, 
despite the many
pitfalls and perils 
along the way. 
When I retired they gave me 
a comb and brush set 
but I kept them in the cellophane 
to keep them from getting tarnished. 
Now that I’m firmly entrenched in old age 
I never worry about losing my mind. 
I think this means I’ve made it.

Monday, December 12, 2022

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


Monday, November 21, 2022

WHERE I AM FROM

 

I was born and grew up in Menominee, Michigan,
the seat of Menominee County, 
on the Michigan-Wisconsin border, 
the gateway to the Upper Peninsula, 
halfway between the Equator and the North Pole, 
population about 10,000 in 1940, 
the fourth largest city in the U.P., 
bordered by the Menominee River to the south 
and Lake Michigan’s bay of Green Bay to the east, 
twin city to Marinette, Wisconsin, 
172 miles north of Milwaukee, 
120 miles south of Lake Superior. 
5.2 square miles, I could reach any 
point in town on my bike in ten minutes. 
Menominee has always enjoyed perfect air, 
its stars glisten at night, 
its water quality is excellent, 
summer temperatures in the seventies, 
and winters enjoy an average 
annual snowfall of 48 inches.* 
“Menominee” means “land of wild rice”, 
the staple of the Menominee Indians 
who originally populated the region. 
The world capital of logging in the 1890’s, 
Menominee was destined 
to become a manufacturing town: 
paper products, wicker furniture, auto supplies. 
The business district spreads along the Green Bay shore. 
Montgomery Ward, the A&P grocery store, 
the Five and Dime, the G.I. Surplus store, 
the Vogue for women’s clothes. 
Once home to fur trappers, lumberjacks, and Great Lakes seamen, 
Menominee in my youth was a man’s world. 
My mother and her women friends 
each raised three or four children, 
managed their households, 
tended eye-catching gardens, 
and were skilled at hostessing 
grand parties in their homes. 
Men were breadwinners and captains of the ship, 
fanatic about the Green Bay Packers, 
spent days at hunting camp each November, 
played poker weekly, drank 
too much, told raunchy stories. 
As boys we learned that males 
should be strong, independent, 
athletic, emotionally unexpressive, 
and disinterested in school. 
Boys took wood shop and auto shop, 
girls took home ec and typing. 
As a small town in a rural region 
Menominee had no art museums or galleries, 
no community exposure to classical music, 
no professional theater, 
a low percentage of college graduates. 
One traffic light, two movie theaters, 
one public and one parochial high school, 
eight taverns, fifteen churches. 
Two dips of ice cream cost a nickel at the Ideal Dairy. 
Diversity was an unknown concept. 
Ninety-nine percent white, 
ninety-nine percent Christian 
(among those professing religion). 
A blue-collar Democratic stronghold in my youth, 
65 percent of residents voted for Trump in 2020. 
High school football reigns supreme. 
The M&M (Menominee-Marinette) game 
is the oldest interstate public school rivalry in the nation, 
and the Menominee Maroons have won three state championships
in their division in the last 25 years. 
Crime was infrequent, and parents never worried 
about letting their children run free in the neighborhood. 
Menominee’s most attractive features 
have to do with its outdoor life. 
It’s an important Lake Michigan port, 
hosts a thriving marina, 
and many locals own sailboats or power boats. 
Menominee County has the largest 
deer population in the U.P., 
and schools closed each year for the first day of hunting season. 
Nearly every family owns guns, 
and the annual murder rate is almost always zero. 
Green Bay beaches are numerous, 
and Menominee has some of the best bass fishing in the nation. 
There are seven golf courses in the area. 
 Camping, swimming, hiking, biking, 
snowmobiling, skating, ice-sailing, cross-country skiing. 
 It’s a good place for kids to grow up 
although a majority usually leave for more cosmopolitan places. 

 *Stats from: www.city-data.com

Saturday, November 12, 2022

WRESTLING WITH IKO

 

Our schnauzer is a world-class sleeper 
until I get up and get dressed 
whereupon he comes to the edge of the bed, 
leaps up on his hind legs, 
and paws ferociously at the air. 
Rrrhhaahg Aarghhh Arrrhh 
“Okay Iko, you’re asking for it.” 
I push his shoulders down, press on his snout. 
Grahmmg Rrahgg 
Iko jerks his head free and snaps at my wrist 
but I grab him by a back leg 
and spank his hind-quarters. 
“Rub-a-dub-a-dub.” 
Ghrrarr Rrahrr 
Iko snaps, I give him a poke. 
Over he goes onto his back. 
Whrahhrrr Arghhaah 
Bouncing this way and that, 
kicking his legs in the air, 
Ggrrhhm grraahh 
I punch him gently in the ribs. 
“Take that, Mister.” 
Iko twists all 22 pounds back and forth 
and tries to bite my forearm. 
Brrggg Rrufff Rff Rff 
He rolls back onto his feet 
and shakes his head. 
Grrahh Rrgghhh 
Grips my right hand in his mouth. 
“Ouch. Not so rough, Buster.” 
I shove my knuckles against his teeth. 
Iko twists and turns, backs up and growls. 
Rrahgga rhurgg 
And so it goes, on and on, 
until we finally get tired. 
“Okay, let’s go.”
 Iko leaps down onto the carpet 
 and out we head for our morning walk. 
 Rmmff Grahhrrr

Monday, October 31, 2022

I AM COUNTING ON WORDLE

 

I wake each morning at half past nine, 
brush my teeth, swallow my pills, 
brew the coffee, 
then tackle the daily Wordle. 
Wordle is what gives me life hope. 
Like mother love 
or finding a twenty-dollar bill. 
A mind-tickler, a super-vitamin, 
keeping my neurons and protons firing, 
the red blood pumping to my frontal lobes. 
One gets six guesses to find the secret word 
but four or five are usually enough. 
Three are cause for celebration, 
two are like winning the lottery. 
This is why Wordle is addictive. 
Mental strain, yes, but 
one success after the next. 
I play Wordle with the multitudes, 
fellow Wordlers in Stockholm and San Salvador, 
Cedar Rapids and Missoula. 
Republicans and Democrats, 
Blacks and Whites, 
Church-goers and atheists. 
Billions of Wordlers, 
all working together 
toward a single goal. 
My son does Wordle too. 
He is more successful because 
he belongs to a more woke generation. 
The New York Times tells me how 
my results compare with the masses. 
I am proud to report that I am 
almost always a perfect average. 
A reassuring accomplishment
for one who worries 
that his brain might be getting wobbly.