SONOFABITCH

Poetry Potluck

One Shot Wednesday

I remember the first time.

It was a crisp Omaha morning, and I was four--

playing in my front yard when three boys came along.

They were BIG kids--maybe eight or nine--

and one of them said: HEY, YA LITTLE SONOFABITCH!

Just casual like...

I asked him what that word meant,

and he said: Go ask yer mama, sonofabitch!

So I did.

NOTHING...it means NOTHING, she said.

And: Who told you that word?

I led her outside to meet my new friends,

but they had disappeared.

And I couldn't understand why they had gone.

Years later there was a girl named Mary

who lived with me in the Hotel San Cristobal

overlooking the ocean in Old San Juan.

There was a little Italian place nearby

where we would drink wine and she would call me "Ducky."

Then one night we were arguing in bed

and she said:YOU SONOFABITCH

and tore my ring from her finger and threw it against the wall.

Then she disappeared.

And I couldn't understand why she had gone.

Time passed and one day my best old childhood buddy

came to visit me in Tucson. I met him

at the airport and he said: YOU OL' SONOFABITCH!

We caught up on things and downed a few,

then we downed a few more.

Before you knew it the days had flown by

and I was taking him back to the airport

where he did this funny bit, singing: We'll meet again...

don't know where, don't know when...

And then he disappeared.

Two weeks later I got a phone call--

he'd been in a bad car wreck and was lying

in a coma in an Amarillo hospital.

Two days hence he departed this world

without regaining consciousness.

And I didn't understand why he had gone.

But all that was long ago...

and things are gonna be different now!

So I've made me a new rule.

If you're gonna call me a sonofabitch...

you've got to promise not to leave.

PREGNANT WEATHER GIRLS

Poetry Potluck

One Shot Wednesday

A cold front? A warm front?

Will it rain or shine?

He can't remember what she said

Cuz she just looks so fine

There's sexy Sue, and Ashley too

Reporting with exuberance

Then one day without warning

WHOAH--a big protuberance!

Now her face is glowing

Smiling oh so brightly

Cuz she's so proud to show the world

What she's been doing nightly

Oy! His curvy fantasy

Has turned into a blob

And now it's plain for all to see

That she's been laying down on the job

The boss was overheard to say

(Only half in jest)

That when she stands in front of the map

Her bulge blots out the whole midwest

Oh, those pregnant weather girls

There's one on every station

Don't get too used to seeing her

She'll soon be on vacation

Now you see her, now you don't

Now filling in--the janitor, STEVE!

But hey folks out there, don't you fret

She'll be back after months of maternity leave

She knows the camera loves her

But so does good ole Ted

And things would be much simpler

If she could just do the weather from bed

Yep, she's gonna have it all

A career and kiddies too

But all those little darlings

Will be raised by a nanny named Cindy Lou

WALK LIKE AN EGYPTIAN

Poetry Potluck

photo courtesy of Getty Images

One Shot Wednesday

Walk with your head held high.

Walk with the fire of freedom in your eyes.

Walk to dispel the lies.

Walk with a vision of the basic right of self-determinism
 for all people.

Walk like a true patriot.

Walk in the footsteps of Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin.

Walk with your friends by your side.

Walk with your lover by your side.

Walk to stand side by side with the old and the young.

Walk to show the politicians you are coming

Walk to show the politicians what true democracy
sounds like: THUNDER!!!

Walk with these lyrics pounding in your brain:
Call out the instigator/because there's something in the air.

Walk to demonstrate that the TRUE power always lies with the PEOPLE.

Walk to demonstrate that the people have given too much of their power away.

Walk to demonstrate the sleeping giant has awakened.

Walk to demonstrate that the few will no longer dictate to the many.

Walk to demonstrate that government must be our servant, not our master.

Walk with these lyrics swirling in your head:
They come, they come/to build a wall between us/don't let them win!

Walk to bring the oppressors to their knees.

Walk to throw the bums out.

Walk to kick in the doors.

Walk to tear down the walls.

Walk to emblazon the walls with this slogan:
If not us, who? If not now, when?

Walk in the spirit of Martin Luther King Jr.

Walk in the spirit of the sixties.

Walk to end the abuse of power.

Walk to empower the powerless.

Walk to show that the masses will no longer be the asses.

Walk to the rallying cry of the trumpet.

Walk pledging no retreat.

Walk for the liberation of man.

Walk to bring sanity back to humanity.

Walk to honor the dreamers.

Walk to create the world in our own image.

Walk in the spirit of Gandhi.

Walk with the fervent prayer that revolutionaries
no longer become just like their oppressors.

PRYING EYES

Poetry Potluck

One Shot Wednesday

And so we RUN

From each traffic and store surveillance lens

Far from every camera phone

Aimed like an accusation

RUN to this place that the hand

Of man has not despoiled--

Where the battle cry of

PUT UP A PARKING LOT

Is still just an echo in the distance

No one sees but us

And the wise old owl

Who won't tell

And the canny coyote

Who won't yell

And the man in the moon

Who has nothing to say

And won't betray

And still we wonder how it went

From this vague sense of being watched

To the everyday certainty of it

As the band plays: The Eyes of Texas Are Upon You

And time marches on

Away from prying eyes

You open your thighs

And the wind sighs

The stars bear witness

Though they are light years away

Streaming from a yesterday that still shines

But only in our minds

COMING OF AGE

Poetry Potluck

One Shot Wednesday

Her name was Connie

and I thought I might be able to

steal my first real kiss

when one summer afternoon at Jake's house

she allowed his horny poodle named Charlie

to hump her leg

With words of encouragement like

COME ON CHARLIE...

YOU CAN DO IT...

THAT'S A GOOOOD BOY !

she urged him on

to the climactic moment of his life

When he threw in the towel

she called for one

That night in the back seat of Jake's car

I placed my mouth upon hers

awkwardly

not fitting exactly the way I figured it should

but our tongues made contact

the Eagle had landed

She must have known I'd never frenched before

but a guy's gotta start somewhere

and where better than a sixteen-year old woman of the world

who had kissed lots of guys

and fulfilled the fondest desire

of at least one poodle

THAT SAME GUY

Poetry Potluck

One Shot Wednesday

Back in my little town

I never knew

a truly crazy person

back in my little town

there was the town bully

the town slut

the town eccentric

all harmless cartoon figures now

in a land obsessed

with violence

and war

just turn on the TV

and there he is

it's the same guy

DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?

it's the SAME guy

day and night

night and day

spraying bullets

dealing indiscriminate death

tune in at eight tonight

to see him again

we've created him

and glorified him

with our dollars

plunked down at the movie theater

we've created him

with a power structure

that assures young people

it's okay

to kill for your country

but only at OUR direction

don't come back here

and try that shit

on your own

is it any wonder that

some get confused

and get it turned around

you know

you are already too far gone

when you pull that trigger

when you are just following orders

all insanity

of the highest order

the inmates

running the asylum

inciting us daily

from podiums

and radios blaring

the politics of division

and hatred

a nation coming apart

from within

fueled by excess

and greed

glowingly referred to as

The American Dream

yeah

just another mentally unbalanced dude

spraying lead at a shopping center

they said he was cold

emotionless

desensitized

as he went about his business

as everyone asks

WHO created him

and somewhere in the background

Michael Jackson sings

time to look at

the man in the mirror

JUST LOOK UP !

Poetry Potluck

One Shot Wednesday

Somewhere there's a girl for me

MAYBE hanging out in a TREE

one day I'll just look up

and THERE she'll be...

And she will not be Miss America,

though she may be dedicated to world peace--

and she doesn't care for fancy cars,

or closing down the bars,

and she will have no scars,

though there may be a small tattoo

that isn't readily visible...

And she will not be Miss America,

though she may have a bikini wax--

and she will be outrageous,

but not contagious,

and she will dig Steely Dan

and love me for who I am...

And she will not be Miss America,

though she may have some type of marginal talent--

like tying a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue,

or spitting her gum farther than anyone.

And she will be hip and sassy

but not too classy

and her eyes will be a trap door you fall into

coming face to face with the Mad Hatter.

And she will say things like: "Did you ever find a penny

that came out of your dog's butt?"

(Hold onto that--it's a lucky one!)

And she will not be Miss America,

though she may be at her best being under dressed--

and she will be all natural up front

for even a little sag is better than the drag

of learning "first hand" that her statistics are inflated.

And she will eat finger food with a fork,

and fork food with her fingers,

how the scent of her lingers...

And she will not whack off

all of her hair on a whim,

thinking that she will look like Halle Berry--

when in truth, like most,

she would more closely resemble Mister Spock--

what a shock!

Oh, the girl for me is somewhere

maybe lost at sea...

how will she ever find me?

She's looking for a poet,

but doesn't know it--

a man with a kind heart,

kind of an old fart,

looking for a new start...

And she will not be Miss America,

but she will pray and she will weep for America--

now I lay me down to sleep in America,

where beauty's only skin deep in America,

and magazine smiles can't conceal

the bewilderment that we feel

at having tossed off one King George

only to be saddled with another--

then lo and behold...we got ourselves a BROTHER!

And the girl for me will see through all the lies, and alibis

for she will be wise, but won't show it,

and she will be beautiful, but won't know it,

and she's out there somewhere looking for a poet

who thinks he may have already blown it--for good.

Oh, the girl for me is somewhere....

maybe hanging out in a tree--

one day I'll just look up

and there she'll be...

Yeah, I think THAT will be the girl for me.

Poetry Potluck

Timoteo--age 6

In this season

So tender and mild

May you once again

See the world

Through the eyes

Of a child

One Shot Wednesday

DESTINATION MOON

Author note: WATER FOUND ON MOON (recent headline)

Previously, ice (probably massive amounts of it) was detected at the moon's poles.

One Shot Wednesday

When I was seven I sent in a coupon from the back page of a magazine.

It said SIGN UP NOW TO BE ABOARD THE FIRST ROCKET TO THE MOON.

They left without me in "69--an oversight for which I've forgiven them.

Now, they tell me there's ICE on the moon...

do you know what that means?

We'll establish colonies, shop in underground malls,

figure skate in the sea of tranquility.

Oh, can we go ma, huh mama, can we go?

When I was sixteen I was convinced I would solve the mystery

of the universe, as I cussed and manhandled the pinball machine

in the pool hall that was more home to me than home.

A brilliant lad was I,

the apple of my very own eye,

as I watched it winking back at me from the mirror.

Now, I behold that celestial sphere

and perceive the image of...what?

There's ice on the moon--

we must determine what this means for children of the ghetto

and poets who expire too soon.

We are the only species on a quest for meaning...

and when we find none we proclaim this lack of meaning

must be indicative of something!

I'm searching for my identity--

did you see it pass by?

I had it once upon a time--

butcher, baker, candlestick maker...

and I wonder why we're all so quick to identify

with something other than our common humanity.

And it must be a trick of the eye that from a vantage point on the moon

we can discern no countries...

yet here, even in Death Valley, we can see them all quite clearly.

And as we walk through the valley of the shadow of death

we will be like Evil Kneivel--

rocket jockeys shooting the gorge to glory!

And as the earth rises--an imposing blue pelota swimming in space--

will you sip from your can of Mountain Dew

and say, "Been there...done that?"

When I was twenty-three I saw my soul stripped naked

as the world of matter disintegrated around me

and I knew I was onto something...

but something still eludes me.

There's ice on the moon...

can we go ma, huh mama, can we go?

When the wild animals are gone can we go?

When the cities are ablaze can we go?

When the television watches YOU can we go?

And I wonder how life will be--

Sea of Tranquility or Ocean of Storms...

Lake of Dreams or Marsh of Decay?

There's ice on the moon

blood in the streets

tears in my eyes

salt in my tears...

a remnant of our life in the sea.

And where have our instincts gone?

We, the dinosaurs of devolution

sinking slowly back into the slime

and all the time asking "why?"

And what do you suppose predisposes us

to give or not give a damn?

There is a memory hidden deep in my mind...

an image of that first amphibian that washed onto dry land

and took its first halting stride--one small step for creature--

a giant leap for creature kind.

I was there when it gazed up at that incandescent orb

and wept at the wonder of the thing.

There's blood on the moon

ice in our veins

pain in our hearts--

and somewhere in the night the voice of Marvin Gaye still echoes:

What's Goin' On? What's Goin' On?

And the earth is asking one question:

Do we love her enough...to leave her?

And I think of how we demonized the Russians for decades, for their ideology.

The "Evil Empire."

Now we may cheer for them at skating competitions--

their ideology has spun closer to ours.

When we define evil as that with which we are in conflict

then how shall we speak of the conflict within ourselves?

A cat knows how to be a cat.

We must LEARN how to be human.

And it COULD be a trick of the eye

that we see a man in the moon...

or is it just that we recognize our own reflection...in everything?

ROMANCE IN ALL ITS GLORY

Poetry Potluck

HE SAID...

In retrospect, my life has been

a blue blur of contradiction

a rolling juggernaut of misjudgment

charging headlong through the rain

and pissing into the wind...

A constellation of calamity

chasing dust devil dreams

down a star speckled highway

in a last-ditch attempt

to catch the champagne

night flight to nirvana...

SHE SAID...

Well, HELL then...here's my phone number!